Recently, our boiler broke down, plunging the house into icy temperatures and setting my teeth chattering from the shock of a cold shower on a winter’s morning.
For my wife, the situation was even more frustrating — because, as well as a freezing home, she had to put up with my absolute refusal to do anything about fixing it.
I was working from home the day it gave up the ghost, so was the natural choice to sort things out. My first suggestion, that we leave it to see if it got better on its own, was shot down.
‘But we never had a boiler like this when I was growing up,’ I protested, feebly. ‘I don’t know what to do.’
As the days went by, I kept on ‘forgetting’ to ring a plumber, until eventually — as I knew she would — my wife gave up and called in a friendly Australian workman.
As he explained the problem, I zoned out, failing to register a single word. It took a month of spare parts and visits to solve the issue, with my wife’s help.
By now, you may be shaking your head at my incompetence. But the truth is more complicated. You see, I could have sorted out the boiler. I just didn’t want to.
And, as I discovered at an early age, there’s one sure way to avoid being saddled with menial tasks: become notorious for being no good at them.
It’s something that the Wall Street Journal has identified as ‘strategic incompetence’ — by being apparently ineffective, you can escape lowly tasks and get on with what you want to do.
I am an expert at strategic incompetence, especially when it comes to chores around the house.
Pairing socks? Giving shoulder massages after a hard day’s work? As far as my wife’s concerned I am so terrible at these jobs, it’s easier if she does them herself or goes without. She also organises our bills. After all, she’s the one with a maths A-level, not me.
Whenever I’m forced to do the washing-up, it’s accompanied by so many expletives and near-misses with the best wine glasses that my wife caves in and takes over. It’s not worth the bother.
She also organises our social lives, as I have better things to do than pick up my phone every time somebody sends a group message. I’ve even been known to ‘accidentally’ delete my Uber taxi app on nights out, so I won’t have to pay for the ride home.
And I strongly suspect I’m not the only man out there neatly avoiding unpleasant tasks through the art of acting dumb.
If you sometimes find yourself fuming that you don’t see how anyone could possibly be as rubbish at this or that household task as your husband seems to be — well, it’s possible that he’s faking uselessness, too.
Of course, to play the role convincingly, you have to start early. Soon after my wife and I began dating, I claimed to have germ phobia whenever I was asked to clean the bathroom.
At a memorable dinner party, she asked me to look after the broccoli. Eager to join the guests drinking cava in the front room, I hacked it to pieces, before leaving it to boil to a pulp.
So, where did I get this habit from? My father is nothing like this — he’s a dedicated, earnest type who worked long hours to support his family. But, back then, men’s roles were clearer.
These days, when we’re all expected to be multi-tasking ‘new men’ who bake a cake as easily as we pull in a high-flying salary, it’s harder to get it right all the time. And it’s easier to shirk the unpleasant, dull bits you’d rather avoid.
It doesn’t surprise me that surveys show it’s women who still end up shouldering most of the domestic burden, despite many, like my wife, working as many hours as their partner.
According to the Office for National Statistics, women do almost 40 per cent more chores than their male counterparts.
And a poll conducted by Oxfam found that sharing a home with a man makes more work for a woman — it revealed that women who live with their partners spend an average of two working days a month more than men on housework and childcare.
There are things I can do — and am happy to do. I’m a proficient cook who prepares around three-quarters of the meals. However, as my wife will tell you, my cooking often involves using about five saucepans, 17 spices and more crockery than the homeware department of John Lewis.
When Suzy arrives home, such is her horror at the thought of the mess I might create that she often ends up cooking herself.
I realised the threat that you’ll do a job badly is a good way to avoid having to do it at all.
My family love to embarrass me with the story of the time they were called into school when I was four years old. My teacher had been worried I was ill — until she realised I was pretending to be asleep whenever she asked me to do something!
When you’re a child, people think of it as an endearing trait and pick up the slack.
I remember, when I was nine, getting up early to make my mum a Mother’s Day breakfast. I put an electric kettle on the hob and nearly brought the house down — with the result that, once she’d rushed downstairs in her nightie to clear the noxious smoke, my mum banned me from all kitchen duties for the next decade.
Having grown up with a hard-working mother who catered to my every whim, perhaps it’s little surprise I’ve slipped into bad habits.
One friend reminded me of an occasion when he had just moved to London in his 20s.
‘You turned up at our flat with raw bacon as a present — then suggested we make you bacon sandwiches. It was absolutely transparent,’ he told me.
Perhaps, but the fact he made the sarnies anyway rather proves it does work.
However, neuroscientist Hilary Scarlett warns that this laziness might be having a bad effect.
‘If you don’t care about pulling your weight, you might be less stressed. But there’s a study that says co-operating with others is rewarding for the brain — it feels good and changes the chemicals in a positive way.’ She has a point. Then there’s the fact my shirker’s ways were never going to fool my brilliant wife. I realised she had sussed me out when I caught her beating me at my own game.
We were booking a weekend away online, but she kept complaining that she ‘could only see expensive flights’. I told her, with a hint of smugness, that I happen to be good at finding deals.
Two hours later, I was deep in holiday admin, rooting around on websites, when I realised she’d been happily catching up on her favourite TV shows while I got on with the hard work. I felt exasperated — even indignant — at having the tables turned.
So, perhaps, for the sake of marital harmony, I should mend my ways.
Obviously, this strategy has its limits at work. I’ve never faked a day’s illness and I don’t pass off even the smallest of jobs.
But don’t ask me to do the tea round. Trust me: you’ll get a ratio of milk to tea so ghastly, you’ll never accept a drink I’ve made again. Thank goodness.
