...to unload here. Can I go first? I didn't want to be anything like my parents, so stuck in the 50s. I swear they don't even recognize music past Elvis. Mom dropped out of college to get married and never worked. Dad worked long hours, was waited on hand and foot at home, and was abusive. I got through college, worked ever since, but I stayed away from relationships almost completely.

After getting knocked on my a** and unemployed for a year, I suddenly changed my tune and moved in with a guy I only just met. I'm working now, and I make more than he does. I pay more rent. Is that kosher? We went by percentages - totalled our income, whatever percentage of the total income I make, I pay in rent. Am I a chump or is this fair? It seems ok. He pays for dinners out, like dating. But then I find I really resent it when I end up doing more than half of the housework and cooking. I can't stand it when I see him just sitting there drinking beer when I'm doing laundry, cleaning the toilet and planning what to cook for dinner. I actually find myself saying (or thinking) things like my father used to: "I work all day, dammit, I want my dinner on the table when I get home". To be fair, he does most of the dishes. We don't have a dishwasher. Maybe appliances are the answer; I don't know. I find myself frustrated by a great lack of knowledge of cooking and such on his part. Can I send him to housewife school? He doesn't even know to wash lettuce before serving it. Can he at least learn to cook bacon properly? Seriously, we had an argument over how to cook bacon. Should we write up and divvy up all the chores?

And then to top it all off, we moved to an out-of-the-way place, so I am now dependent upon him for a ride to and from BART every day, and it cramps my style. In that way, I feel like a kept woman, and I resent it, but in doing more than 50% of the house stuff, I feel like the appointed "Mom", and I that. It's exhausting.

But even more bizarre, I realize I'm pushing myself in the housewifey aspect. Living alone, I wouldn't care if I ate cheerios and an orange for dinner and didn't do the dishes until the weekend, my living room might have clothes strewn about until I felt like doing laundry , and the cat might be eating out of take-out containers from the Chinese restaurant visited a week ago. Living with someone, I feel like I must aspire to higher standards, have real dinners off real dishes, etc.