Gender Equity at Home? I Think Not.

Imagine, if you will, the following scenario. Yes! Rebekah has arrived in China! Land of beautiful scenery, the language I’ve been studying for the past three years, and delicious food. Hurrah! I get to learn how to cook authentic Chinese food! No way! I mean, for goodness sake, I already have requests from all my family and friends for delicious, homemade Chinese meals when I get back. Now imagine my excitement when I realize I have my own kitchen. I mean, not mine personally, but shared but all six people who live in the apartment. It’s large, well-equipped with pots and pans and the like, and at my absolute disposal. Could life get any better? But upon closer inspection, my excitement fades. The original color of the counters is a mystery. The floor is so visibly dirty that it makes me shudder to walk in there with only socks on my feet. The dishes are in a heightened state of disarray. Let me pause for a brief moment to introduce my apartment mates. There’s me, of course, and Liz right next door to me. Also on our floor is Solomon, the friendly Korean fellow who’s studying Chinese as well. On the second floor we have Matt, Jason (who we never see – it’s still a mystery where he spends his days), and Brant, the most clearly non-Asian in the entire apartment. He’s no less than six feet tall, muscular, imposing, and has curly blond hair (the coup de tete, as it were). Okay, boys and girls. Time for a lesson in gender differences. I have chosen to take this semester as an excellent opportunity to really learn how to cook. But in this kitchen, in which I fear for my life every time I walk in? Not a chance. So I decided the kitchen needed to be cleaned, thoroughly, from top to bottom, and I recruited Liz (who, also being female, thought the kitchen was equally disgusting). So we get into the kitchen and realize it’s far worse than we thought. The griddles are so thickly covered in years of leftovers from cooking mishaps that they’re stuck to the stovetop. The counters are frighteningly black. Half the dishes are still filthy even after being washed. The tiled walls are caked with grime. In corners we find something suspiciously mold-like growing. The floor is nearly unidentifiable. Now, keep this in mind for just a minute. Liz informed Brant of our intention to clean the kitchen. His reply: “Is it even dirty?” I’m not even kidding. Boys! Honestly. So we come to the actual cleaning. Liz started with the refrigerator (and a fine job she did, too!). She cleaned it out and discovered icky things that hadn’t seen the light of day in far too long. Among the best was something that probably used to be some variety of meat about a year and a half ago. On top of that, she organized, rearranged, put things in order, cleaned out cabinets, and so much more. I couldn’t have done it all without her! I started with the dishes and the countertops. Once I got going, like I said, I realized that many of the dishes were permanently disgusting. I washed, I scrubbed, I used lots of soap, and yet they looked to be in exactly the same condition as before I started. I had much more success with the countertops. Liz and I found a bottle of some heavy-duty kitchen cleaner, and it made all the difference. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that the countertops were actually white! And that in some previous lifetime, the griddles were silver! And those weren’t the only discoveries we made. We also uncovered a fancy black light dish dryer, a towel bar, and a little lion design on the wall that had been previously invisible. On top of that, we found at least a hundred chopsticks, no fewer than three full bags of rice, three bags of salt, two bags of sugar, and such an array of cutlery that we’ll never be at a loss for a knife again. The true triumph will come when we manage to get the floor passably clean. We did a preliminary washing, but in order to be livable, that floor will have to be washed at least once more. Liz and I have decided to let the floor dry and then wash it again this evening. The other part left unfinished was the sticky griddles, which are so irreparably dirty that we’re going to buy steel wool and try again later. However, as payback for the hard work Liz and I put in, I think the boys should wash all our dishes for the next two weeks. I know my mother is proud, reading this. “I knew I raised her right!” she’s thinking. Tomorrow we’re tackling the bathroom, in which some disgusting smell has pervaded since we arrived. Wish us luck. If I never return… you’ll know what happened. Or maybe you’ll just wish you didn’t.