What You Need To Do Today by Doc

“Do you know what you have to do?” she asked.

He gave his normal response (which was honest): “No.”  And as usual she listed all the tasks she had decided she wanted him to do.  He wasn't very enthusiastic about scrubbing the floor, vacuuming the carpet, going to the post office to get the mail, going to the supermarket to buy milk, and…. He knew there were other things but.  “Oh well,” he thought.  “If I forgot anything, I’m sure I’ll be reminded”.

He used to do all the things she told him she wanted him to do with more enthusiasm, but two things had left him somewhat deflated.  First was the realization that she was a living robot, by which he meant she didn't really want any of the chores she assigned to be done.  She was simply acting out her programming from decades ago when she had received orders.  It wasn't about her wanting.  It was about a cold legacy of obligation alive in her brain.

He wondered if there was a cleaning God who went around the world checking on houses to see if they were properly run and – if they were not – angry enough to send folks off to a Hell in which there were dead insects, dust, grime and cobwebs hanging from an infinitely long and wide expanse of plastic laminate flooring.   He couldn't fault her for nit-picking on him alone.  She did the same thing to herself.  It was sad.

He hoped (mostly vainly) for some joy and fun and abandon in his life.  Yes, there was ‘going out to a restaurant’ (which she really did seem to like doing).  As for himself, he honestly didn't care what he ate. He did his job: they went – together -- to restaurants.  He told her, as she expected, that the food was ‘fantastic’ and that he was glad to try…. Well, whatever, really.  It was all food to him.

Sex was another topic.  That was a rarity.  “I’m sorry, but I’m not really interested in it very much,” she explained.  He nodded.  It was obvious.  His bad luck.  He simply nodded and acknowledged it.  He had promised to be faithful and – if you consider physical contact as being unfaithful – he had submitted to that obligation, too.  He had ‘lady friends’, and she knew that, but she and he knew that beyond ‘that point’ he was forbidden to go.  He submitted.  He obeyed.  He didn't much like it, but his job was to love, honor, and obey.  So he did.

Love was a curious word.  He’d discussed it with some of his female friends and they all seemed to know (somehow) what the word meant and – to think that ‘love’ was very, very important.  (They seemed to link it to something else they valued: ‘a good relationship’).  He wasn't so sure.  Maybe the Greeks had figured it out best, breaking things out into love of parents, love of children, love of friends, love of …. Well, you get the idea.

He understood lust.  He understood friendship.  He understood loyalty.  It was the idea of ‘erotic’ or (worse!) ‘romantic’ love that had him puzzled.   He thought of ‘love’ as a word that (disgusting and disreputable) males used to lure women into bed.  To fuck.  Et cetera.   If that was what ‘love’ was, he wanted nothing to do with it.  Why bullshit someone and later disappoint her when the truth came out.  Pathetic.  There was no way he could lie just to get laid.  He lacked the courage.  Or maybe the selfishness.  Whatever.

“Honey, have you washed the pantry floor?”  She broke his reverie.  “No dear, I’ll get to it in a while.”  She replied, “You’re not doing anything.  Do it now!”  He did.  And he looked up at the clock.  He idly thought of phoning one of his lady friends to chat.  The nice thing about them was that he could talk about his feelings and his ideas and his erotic fantasies.  They seemed ok with that.  They never left the room in a huff or said, “That’s interesting.  Oh, did I tell you what Angela said when I talked to her on the phone yesterday….”  Maybe he could talk to one of his friends later.

Now his job was to submit to his partner and her long list of ‘to do’ items.

Maybe that’s what love is, he mused.  Submitting.

He wondered if his partner’s submission to the obligations drilled into her head made her a switch. Maybe it just meant they were both just sheep, herded by a collection of thoughts passed down from generation to generation.  A code.  A code called ‘Thou shalt….”.