We were sitting watching TV one night – I was working on my computer, my wife was sewing – when she got up from the couch and announced, “Those dishes aren’t gonna’ wash themselves.” It’s true they weren’t, but a man can live in hope. I knew I wasn’t going to wash them. What they did on their own time was their business.
I could tell she wasn’t happy about it. It was probably the last thing she wanted to do at that hour of the night. As she sauntered over to the sink, a thought crossed my mind: was she expecting me to do it? Was it my turn? I was immersed in very important research, an Islanders’ blog post, and didn’t want to move. She soaped up and began washing. I felt guilty, but I kept my mouth shut. This was a predicament. How could I pretend to want to help, but not actually help? I mulled the problem, and decided to make a late offer.
The late offer is a skill most men develop over the course of their teens and early twenties, but only perfect after they marry. When making a late offer, it’s important to wait until the majority of the work has passed and only a trivial portion remains. Timing is critical: too early and she might accept the invitation and you’ll have to get off your duff and help; too late and she’ll be done completely and the offer would come across as sarcasm.
The appropriate moment to make a late offer is when the person is about seventy-five to eighty percent done. That way, you can act as if you’re so engrossed in what you’re working on that you didn’t realize what was going on around you. My favorite reaction is to look up from whatever I’m doing as though I’m emerging from a twenty year coma. Oh, you mean those dishes really aren’t going to wash themselves? Since when?
This works especially well with groceries. When your wife arrives home with a full SUV, sit working on your laptop or feign an intense interest in one of your daughter’s cartoons – you can even get up and hold the remote in hand as though you’re poised to press the “Pause” button, but you just can’t tear yourself away from “Paw Patrol”. After she’s made her third trip, lugging sacks of food so heavy Schwarzenegger would feel the burn, come alive and blurt out, “Hey, did you need any help with that?” I can almost guarantee the answer will be no.
For my purposes, I would wait until she had scrubbed the big stuff in the sink, the dirty pots and pans, and filled the bottom level of the dishwasher with plates and utensils. When she had gotten that out-of-the-way, I looked up. A half-dozen cups remained. “Can I help with that?” I asked. It helps to sound skeptical, as though the concept is beyond comprehension.
She looked over, and said the one word I didn’t expect and dreaded to hear: “Yes.”
Yee gads! The late offer had failed. Not every theory is foolproof. Where did I go wrong?
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