Idiotic Male Inventions

Just like spiked heels, pantyhose, and car consoles, I’m convinced that housework was invented by a brain-dead male. They’re constantly inventing things that enhance their lives and add a level of misery to ours. My truck has huge cup-holders capable of handling an igloo thermos, but there’s no place to put my purse. Apparently that’s what the passenger seat is for—unless a child calls shotgun then your purse gets to be tossed around on the floor like a soccer ball. I’ve lost countless tubes of lipstick thanks to this design flaw. My SUV also features a hatchback that, when opened, extends far beyond my reach. So I get to join the throngs of women in the Wal-mart parking lot jumping up and down as they try to reach the handle to close tailgate, or the women who have to straddle the running boards in order to buckle their children into car seats. Maybe the SUV was designed with the man in mind, but I don’t know too many men who have to drive the multi-passenger vehicle on a daily basis—that’s reserved for his wife who’s carting six five-year-olds to dance class.


Housework is another male invention that’s a sucker-punch to women. Let me ask you a question. When it comes to your house, what part is the man’s domain? It’s the garage, right? That’s because they can store all their important stuff in a place where the children will never wander. They never have to worry about anything walking off, and it’s technically outside so they aren’t required to keep it clean. The woman’s domain? It’s the entire house—the place where the kids hang out and spill their chips and drinks, where laundry is soiled and bathrooms are positively violated. Messes are created exponentially until it’s physically impossible to keep up unless you are a clean-freak without any other hobbies. A husband may “help-out” but I haven’t met any that are willing to adopt the house as their domain and keep it as clean as their wife would. The worst part is that housework is never done. You mop a floor and ten seconds later someone tracks muddy footprints across it. Dust is whisked away only to return mysteriously a few days later.

Perhaps we should launch a campaign against stupid male inventions. We’d be free to hang out in our garages and wear sensible shoes with baggy shorts—just like our male counterparts. The world would revolve around comfort and function. It would be like the entire world was wearing orthopedic shoes. But I would miss my cherry-red four-inch heels. They’re so pretty. Male inventions might be idiotic, but we make them look so good.