“It must be nice to be a man,” I told Ryan in the aftermath of our family Christmas. We’d shared our traditional dinner and unwrapped gifts with the children before leaving Toronto for the holidays. All the responsibilities for cooking and shopping, cleaning and wrapping had, like most years, fallen almost entirely on my shoulders.
And goodness, can I really complain about that? I mean, if Ryan works hard enough to bring home the bacon, can’t I at least cook it?
But to what degree I cook it with a charitable spirit is always up for grabs.Though Christmas should traditionally be a season of joy, in truth, I can battle with resentment about the extra domestic work it requires of me.