2 House Chores That Aches My Heart As a Married Woman

If marriage has taught me anything, it’s that love is patient, love is kind — and sometimes, love is arranging sachet water in the refrigerator when your wife has simply had enough of house chores.

Let’s start with the sachet water crisis — a chore so humble yet so capable of ruining my entire mood. I don’t know who invented sachet water, but I’m convinced they never owned a refrigerator. Because if they did, they’d know how chaotic it gets when you’re trying to stack thirty slippery, half-frozen pouches that behave like rebellious jellyfish.

Every time I open the fridge, it’s like a mini battlefield with sachet waters — popularly called pure water in Nigerian parlance — scattered all over in disarray. One wrong move and splash! — one cold sachet may fall on my toes. I stand there, muttering, “Not again,” while plotting a dramatic speech about how I refuse to do this again. Or better still, I leave the refrigerator empty in the gospel of “cold water isn’t good for your health,” whereas it’s just my own little cover-up mechanism for not doing one of the dreaded chores.

And then, like a knight in shining boxers, my husband appears — the ultimate doer of chores.

“Babe, don’t worry. I’ll do it.”

Ah, romantic music to my ears. He swoops in with confidence, rearranging sachets with the precision of a civil engineer. He even has patterns — two rows vertical, three rows horizontal. Sometimes I just stand back, watching him with admiration… and mild suspicion.

READ ALSO: Nigeria’s Teenager Joy, Assumes Vice Presidential Position for 24HRS

Because honestly, how does he make it look so easy? Maybe some people were just born with the chore gene.

The Chronicles of Chores: A Wife, a Sink, and Her Morning Struggles

Now, let’s talk about the morning dishes — my least favorite chapter of the marriage manual and perhaps the most annoying chore of all.

There’s something about facing last night’s dishes first thing in the morning that makes me question my life choices. The sight of greasy pots, rebellious spoons, and rice glued to the plate like superglue just kills my morning joy.

And of course, my husband, the early riser, notices my slow-motion routine.

When he tries to probe me about it, I just stare at him, contemplating whether true love includes washing the plates while I sip my tea.

Sometimes, he takes pity on me. He rolls up his sleeves, puts on his “I’ve got this” face, and goes to war with the sink while whistling his typical phrase, “Before I married you, I did all these chores, so there’s nothing stopping me from doing them now.”

I peek in, and he’s actually enjoying it. Meanwhile, I’m wondering if it’s too late to nominate him for Husband of the Year — because anyone who smiles through these chores deserves a medal.

Now, let me make a confession: if you are ever a visitor in my house and you offer to help me wash plates, ah! you’ve automatically earned yourself lifetime friendship rights. You haven’t just helped me; you’ve saved a heart from aching for that entire day. I’ll probably talk about your kindness for weeks. That’s how deep my chore trauma runs.

But let’s be honest — my husband’s heroics don’t always save me. Some days, I’m alone with my two sworn enemies — the fridge and the sink — battling sachet chaos, stubborn oil stains, and other never-ending chores that seem to multiply overnight. And yes, I must eventually do them, though with plenty of sighs and questions about why I subject myself to such torture.

I’ve tried motivational quotes. I’ve tried “making chores fun” with music. I even tried pretending I’m on a cooking show. Nothing works.

Because no matter how many times my husband helps, or how much love fills the air, one truth remains: till now, I still find it hard to cope with arranging sachet water and washing plates in the morning — my two most stubborn chores.

And honestly? I think I’ve earned the right to complain — at least until someone invents a self-arranging fridge and a sink that does its own chores.

About The Author