Most of my friends think my husband is a pretty good catch.

And obviously so do I, but not for the same reasons as my friends.

They think he is wonderful because he cleans, washes the dishes, disappears when he needs to and changes the kitty litter, all without being asked.

And I appreciate what he does, I really do. I just don't think it makes him wonderful. I think it comes with the territory. In short - it's part of his job.

It's just common decency.

After all, I expected the same from my flatmates back when I was a footloose and fancy-free single gal. We didn't share a bathroom (I lived with some very smelly Kiwi boys who got excited when they could write their names in the bathtub scum), but the communal living areas were kept in some semblance of order by all of us.

And before that, I expected the same of my family. And they expected the same from me.

Cleaning up after myself doesn't make me a wonderful person, it just means I have good manners. But that's because I have girly bits. If I was a man, cleaning up after myself would almost be cause for a ticker-tape parade. Which the women would then be expected to clean up.

Despite the common misconception, there ain't no law which says a woman must clean up after her anyone other than herself, including her man.
And that means any man. I include sons, brothers, fathers and your flatmate's boyfriend in that category.

If you share a living space, chances you are both contributing to the mess. So you both clean it up. Simple as that.

And in our household, Alex has a little more spare time then I do, so he usually ends up doing the bulk of the shared tasks.

It's not a conscious decision, it's just the way it is. (Which is lucky, because the last time I plugged in the vacuum I shorted out the house – which I took as a sign from God that housework and I don't mix.)

But somehow, the sight of Alex standing in front of the kitchen sink is still enough to send some women straight back to the 1950s.

"Oh no, Alex," they pester in their high-pitched Ethel inflections. "Let me do that. You just sit down and rest."

Rest? Like washing two people's dishes is all of a sudden a task akin to running a marathon?

Some women act like the soapsuds will only activate their cleaning agent when they come in to contact with the XX chromosome. Seriously.

Growing up, my dad washed dishes, hung the clothes out, cooked, cleaned the bathroom, vacuumed and did all those other snore-inducing tasks which make up the household chores.

My mum did all those things as well.

The only difference was, no one thought it was unusual when she picked up the mop.

We like to pretend that we live in a gender stereotype-free society, but the fact is, until the term “house-husband” isn't said in the same tone as Santa Claus and affordable Manolos, we won't.

But in this case, I think it's the gals putting down the men.

It's like there is some housework glass ceiling, which we can't let them cross, because then – shock horror - they will be our equals in the home as well!

But it's not just housework. We like to make men feel special about the silliest things - which really, they should be doing anyway.

If you are feeling a little down, you almost expect your girls to try to cheer you up.

You appreciate it, but it's nothing to think that your girls will drop everything to come round with chocolate, a stiff drink and a shoulder to cry on. It's like it is in the sisterhood rules or something.

Your girls can take phone calls at 2am, give you a detailed analysis of what each and every word he uttered REALLY meant (it's not what they say, it's how they say it) and skip Grey’s to come and rescue you from your flooding bathroom and it's all par for the course.

But a man picks you a flower from the neighbour’s garden and offers to do the dishes and suddenly he is the best thing since Nutella came out in those little snack packets?

Seriously.

If you lived with a friend and she was being a bit of a pig, you would tell her to get off her arse and into the tidying. So why is it any different when the person you share your house with is also sharing your bed?

Most of them have two, perfectly working arms and learnt how to tell the difference between clean and dirty eons ago.

And if you're really lucky, some of them will be a little more advanced and can handle the forward-back motion of the vacuum cleaner, or if they've mastered that, then there is always the up-down manoeuvring at the clothes line.

Alex has been doing it for years and as far as I know, the world hasn't stopped.

And more of us need to start raising the bar.

Because the truth is, they lied. Hard work has killed plenty of people and life is too short to be the only person scrubbing two people's worth of mess from the bathroom sink.

And if my old flatmates Scottie and Paddy can manage to keep a house clean, anyone can.