If you share a domestic space with anyone (wife, girlfriend, housemates, etc) the chances are that this reponsibility will lead to conflict.
Although I have experience of all of the above I'm going to draw from my current experience and use the time I've spent with the wife.
There are two ways to hoover, the man way and the woman way. The man way is more about speed than accuracy. It focuses on heavy footfall areas and large particles of crud. The woman way takes much longer and requires the movement of furniture and the use of various nozzle extensions.
In an all male household the first is perfectly acceptable and only needs to take place fortnightly as a rule of thumb (even this can be deemed as excessive). In dual sex domestic households this won't cut it.
I have found that hoovering is, at a minimum, a weekly activity that requires all furniture to be moved and skirting boards to be alienated from any dust. I disagree with this approach, and thus we enter conflict.
Resolution- Grab the boy and fuck off to the man den to watch old vhs tapes of Thundercats.
Until meeting my wife this was a completely foreign concept to me. I can live with dust. So much so that for most of my second year at university my television had my name written on the screen in dust.
My wife believes that dusting needs to happen weekly (and she'd like to dust more if she could). Again there are two types of dusting. My way, this involves waving the duster in the general direction of dust and under no circumstances moving anything.
My wife's way is to move everything from a surface, dust the surface, and dust all of the moved objects. Then returning the objects in completely different positions. This is a source of constant annoyance to me as usually I can't find anything afterwards.
Resolution- Grab the boy and fuck off to the man den to watch an old vhs tape of Mask the movie.
Luckily I'm at work most of the time so I'm only exposed to one washing up round. When I wash up I can only find two taps, hot and cold. Somehow my wife manages to locate the 'volcanic' tap.
Like hoovering the male washing up method focuses on speed and draining. We all know that drying up is a ball ache, and the draining board is as good a place as any to store crockery and cutlery. Not so in a female world.
Usually for one dinners worth of washing up my wife goes through 2 bowls of volcanicly heated water. Everything is sparkling and clean. Somehow when I wash up there is always some errant bean juice crusted onto something. Woe betide any man busted for the crime of crusty bean juice.
Resolution- Grab the boy and fuck off upstairs to play with his cars and garage.
Until I moved in with my wife I never realised a bathroom needs cleaning. I mean everything takes care of itself surely? Occassionally there might be an accident after having a dodgy pint that results in dinner being parked on the floor, but otherwise everything goes down the drain.
Apparently surfaces need cleaning with special wipes and bleach needs to go down the thunderbox. I've never trusted bleach. I think it's to do with the urban myth of bleach splashing up your arse whilst you're lighting a bum cigar that always put me off.
Anyway this is another unnecessary regular event, weekly at minimum.
Resolution- Grab the boy and fuck off to the man den to watch old vhs tapes of He-Man.
The domain of man. Here the tables are turned (for the most part). You call the shots. If it's sunny I'm out like a shot, pasty torso crisping pink in the midday sun as I push the mower back and forward. Sometimes even going as far a getting the hedge trimmer out and fucking up the neighbours bush. Overcast? No need to do the lawn today, it needs to 'repair' itself. I haven't mown the law since September. Why? It's not good for the lawn when it's cold or damp.
There's probably some truth in that, do I actually know this? Do I balls.
The extent of my wife's involvement in the garden is turning the flower bed and planting nice flowers.
Resolution- None. In the garden I am king.