How is that sexy?

I get to stay home every day and write. For me, that is a dream come true. My wife leaves every morning and has to work "out there" where there are actual people to deal with {shiver} and actually talk to. Since I stay home, and also since I have a bit of an OCD "problem" that involves needing things to be a certain way (read: clean), I do the housework. I cook. I tend to the yard.

Now, to me, that simply seems fair. After all, she has to drive to and from...be in a certain place at a certain time. All the stuff that goes with having a 9-to-5 (or 7-to 3:30 in her case) job is on her shoulders. While I happen to be a bit of a workaholic and suffer no issues with actually staying on task and meeting daily goals, I do not have anybody to answer to except for myself. If I don't write, I do not make money. We fall behind on things like house and car payments. A writer is only relevant if he or she continues to write (until you die and a hundred years pass so that you can be considered a classic).

I have a schedule as far as my cleaning is concerned. It keeps the house looking good and allows me to enter a room without wincing or feeling a surge of anxiety and discomfort. My wife has said on more than one occasion that "there is nothing sexier than a man who knows how to handle a vacuum" ...or do laundry...or wash dishes. You get the point.

I don't get it. I don;t find a thing "sexy" about scrubbing the tubs, showers, and sinks in our bathrooms. I find nothing alluring about a day with Murphy's and a large hardwood floor. The other morning, she was getting ready for work and I was in the middle of the morning routine which includes tending to all the assorted watering that needs doing between gardens and animals when she said something along the lines of how sexy it was while I was tromping around the chicken yard, dumping fouled water and refilling with fresh. I looked up at her as she leaned on the porch with a smile on her face. "Are you out of your mind?" I asked. "What could POSSIBLY be sexy about this?" It sure as hell was not the funky smell coming from that nasty water I was dumping out.

She has made similar statements when she comes in and I am in the kitchen with pots and pans on every burner...my latest attempt to channel Alton Brown or Alex Guarnaschelli simmering, roasting, or frying on the stove or in the oven. I just don't see it. I have an idea of what sexy is, and that ain't it. Truth be told, I often joke (usually to myself, the dogs, or the birds since the house is void of humans during the day) about my "glamorous life" as a "Best-Selling" author as I cook, clean, and take care of making sure all the bills are paid in a timely manner.

Sixty pounds ago, maybe a compliment about being "sexy" would have stuck. Sadly, even with all my hill running, tire flipping, battle-rope work and P90X, I just don't lose weight. (See earlier comments about my love for cooking.) I am a good four stones above what I would like. If I quit things like ice cream and baking, I could probably get rid of that extra load, but that is not likely. I am hitting 50 years old in September and not likely to ever dip my toe into the dating pool again. I already told Denise that I would become a happy recluse if she should ever meet a pre-mature end. (Yep, we have those morbid conversations...I have no idea why.) Life as a writer is a very singular existence. It would be some very barren soil to try and cultivate a new relationship...hmm...I am starting to wander off topic.

Anyway, this is primarily for the ladies. Perhaps you can illuminate me (and the guys who drop in to read these posts) as to why such things can be considered in any way as being "sexy". 

Have a great weekend.