Mary Lou was in the middle of rinsing off and putting all the dishes from dinner into the dishwasher. Hot steam rose from the sink as the hot water hit and danced around alloy. She heard the front door knob wiggle and muffled keys jingle right before a soft thud hit the floor. “Damn keys… slipper fingers” was said in a low voice followed by a sigh. Mary giggled to herself as she closed the dishwasher and turned to head to aid her husband who could never successfully open their front door in the 6 years they had lived together. She left the kitchen and gracefully entered the living room walking straight to the door to end her husbands’ struggle. “Need a little help there, Mr. Carter?” Mary Loud said while opening the door. Standing there, keys in his hand, he looked up to see his wife leaning on the door frame giggling. With a sigh of relief, and appreciation he smiled and said the famous Ricky Ricardo line, “Honey, I’m home” giving his wife a kiss on the cheek. Mary smiled and stood aside as he stepped into his home, finally being able to unwind after a hard day’s work. He headed for his recliner chair in the living room and started undoing the laces of his dirt dusted work boots. He proceeded to take off his construction gear, and set them aside in their place for the next morning. He settled into his chair, and grabbed the remote on the coffee table to watch some evening sports. As he grabbed for the remote, he noticed an article next to a vacant coaster. It was titled The Men We Carry in Our Minds, probably just some woman-equality dominance type thing again Johnny thought to himself. But what caught his attention was the name under the title, Scott Sanders. Scotty? Sand-boy? Johnny burrowed his brows. I thought he was pursuing architecture? What’s this all about? Johnny leaned forward and picked up the newspaper and folded it so that he was only viewing the article. Mary came back with his drink and set it down on the coaster. She saw he had gotten to read the newspaper. “Oh yeah, you remember Scotty right? Scott Sanders? We haven’t heard from him in a while.” She inquired setting a hand on Johnny’s shoulder. “Mm” was the response she got, as Johnny’s eyes faithfully followed the words of the page. “I thought he was going to be an architect. Want some roast?” She asked him a she headed back into the kitchen to fix him a plate anyway. Johnny gave the same response, more of a mumble this time. After a few minutes of Johnny flipping and folding the newspaper, and Mary Lou cutting and setting a place for him at the table, Johnny brought the newspaper with him, placing it next to his fork. “Have you read this?” Johnny prompted looking up at Mary as he stabbed the meat with his fork. She was pouring herself a glass of wine as he asked, and answered “Of course, what an airhead!” rolling her eyes. “Airhead?” Johnny said with confusion. “Yeah his friend the girl he was talking to in the beginning” Johnny picked up the newspaper, and reread the first page. “Why do you say that?” Mary Lou began “‘it’s easier being the victim’, ‘I wouldn’t be a man for anything’ sheesh, the girl obviously has no sense of self-worth or value in men either, even though she defends them saying ‘men have been discredited.’” Johnny replied, “So you feel that men have it harder?” Mary Lou circled her wine glass and thought to herself before she answered the question. “I respect that men take it upon themselves to do physical laboring. But I also understand that being a homemaker, and being expected to cook, clean, and tend to the children is quite a job itself. When I see or hear about these radical feminists who despise the females who chose to stay at home or voice that men oppress the opposite sex, these “feminists” really just want something to bark about. Scott was right, when he described the type of men he grew up around. Women like his friend, who feel that those men who are working more than 12 hours a day are hoarding all the fun to themselves, clearly does not see what the man is actually doing,” Mary Lou paused, and looked at her husband’s plate. Johnny was surprised his wife thought this way, but continued to take another spoonful of dinner to give the notion that he wanted her to keep going. “Take you and me. You do construction, you ‘re not just sitting in some office, using a few fingers and inputting information into a box full or wires, you’re heavy lifting, loading building materials, operating machines, and I’m here doing laundry, folding clothes, vacuuming floors, preparing meals, washing dishes, taking the kids to school, I don’t think that what I do is any less of what you do, and you’ve never degraded me or questioned what I do at home, or complained of who’s more tired than who, when really both our jobs hold the same amount of weight on our shoulders. And I certainly don’t think that I’m ‘stuck here’ while you’re out there experiencing ‘the joys and privileges of the earth’” Johnny chewed his food with a smile. He was proud in that his wife thought equally of their relationship and their roles. He didn’t have to say things like how he never wanted her to feel inferior to him, or that he’s grateful that she chooses to be at home, while he’s out in the world. She was right, he never felt that he was experiencing any type of pleasure from working, besides when he received his pay check. If he could choose what to do, without having to worry about financial status, truthfully, he’d choose what she does. He’d chose to devote to his family. And if he couldn’t he was glad that she could. He took the newspaper, and set it on a chair and out of sight. He remembered a vital part of their evening, every night that he had not fulfilled yet. He took her hand, and smiled. She was confused, but a red tint flushed over her cheeks. “The dinner is delicious sweetheart, thank you.” he said, and kissed her hand.