Domestic Labor, Paid in Full
Language: en
My son, Oliver, got an allowance of five hundred dollars a month. He thought it was peanuts and racked his brain to get more out of me. He’d charge five bucks for clearing the dishes, ten for making his bed. Even when I had a fever and asked him to run downstairs for some medicine, he’d deadpan: “Ten dollars for the errand, or you can just burn up.” By the end of the month, he presented me with a bill. “Mom, I did a thousand dollars worth of work this month. You owe me.” My husband, Arthur, chuckled, “I should learn from Oliver. I lifted the toilet seat when I went to the bathroom, you owe…