Dave Barry hit the nail on the head when he said that men and women were essentially incompatible in the area of dirt. Men don’t see dirt; women obsess with it. With exceptions, like my lucky friend Judy who shares the male blindness and has a house-cle

Housework

Dave Barry hit the nail on the head when he said that men and women were differently endowed in the area of dirt recognition. Men don’t even see dirt; women obsess over it. The thesaurus gives the following aliases for “obsess”: trouble the mind, bedevil, intrude upon continually. Sounds like dirt to me.

There are notable exceptions, like my lucky friend Judy who enjoys the masculine oblivion and has a dirt-hating husband. What did she do to deserve him, anyway? But with her in mind, I’ll eschew the word “husband” in this discourse and say “partner.”

Some partners really need to work on their deficiency. They should take college remedial courses or something. After all, the amount of dirt in the house is directly related the amount of marital fulfillment. It’s hard to have a passionate encounter on the kitchen floor when there are grains of rice pressing into your sweaty backs. And how can you collapse gracefully in the throes of emotion onto the pristine white sofa when you have to move an inch of potato chip crumbs off it first?

But dirt is not the main issue in our house -- I gave up and started doing all the cleaning myself -- the issue is child-care. Women’s magazines really missed the boat there -- we don’t need quizzes on “What is your prospective mate’s sexual IQ?”, we need quizzes on “Does your intended REALLY like children?” And face it, guys, there’s nothing sexier than a guy changing a diaper.

Those self-help people who say, “Don’t sweat it; your partner may just have a different style of child rearing,” need to check their research data. For example, they’ll say, “Don’t get upset if your partner forgets to wipe the child’s nose, take pride that he or she will teach the kid to throw a baseball accurately.” Maybe, but what about a partner whose child-rearing style is “sitting on the couch watching TV and then blowing up when the baseball lands in your soft drink.” Tell us how to cope with that, Parent Magazine!

I don’t really have anything to complain about in my husband though. After all, his father didn’t even know how to change a diaper. He not only knows how to do it but also knows how to come up with one-hundred and fifty creative excuses why he didn’t do it.

(And I get to borrow them.)