The REAL reason God created women

Many of you know I NEVER write about religion...unless it's to point and laugh at some of the loonier cults out there. But yesterday I had an epiphany. I discovered the real reason God created woman.

Now in the bible (which I haven't read since I was a freshman in High School), it's put forward that God created Eve because Adam was lonely.



That's the politically correct version. In reality, it's much more simple than that. God created Eve because Adam didn't know how to clean up after himself. God looked down and saw all the banana peels, ye olde beer cans, and fast food wrappers. He saw that Adam hadn't mowed the lawn in weeks, not to mention the animal doo piling up every where.....God was pissed, but he knew there was a flaw in his design and he had to fix it. So while Adam took his usual afternoon nap (because he was too tired from all his other work to clean anything) God made Eve.

I have proof of this! See, since the dawn of time (OK, maybe not since the dawn of time...maybe just ever since Eve got created) Women have been the ones expected to clean up. Oh sure, they're supposed to cook and take care of the kids too, but really their job boils down to cleaning up after the men folks.



Now that's a pretty anti-Renee type view, I mean, after all---I'm the one that writes about female soldiers in Victorian times...but I figured this out yesterday when I was cleaning my brother's apartment. How'd I get roped into that? Easy...I'm between jobs and 'bumming around Mom and Dad's house in sweatpants and eating their food' apparently has a time limit. I had to start earning my keep.

Anyway, Matt has never been good at cleaning anything. And people wonder why I won't eat anything he cooks. People keep telling me it's safe...since there are dishwashers for the cleaning thing...but I still don't trust him. Regardless, his living conditions have always been less than stellar. I've been in bachelor pads....I've seen the rugby house...and they're usually pretty rank. I've seen very few bachelor pads that are actually inhabitable by a normal human being. JT's apartment is clean, neat and tidy. And he's got a cat. But JT is OCD when it comes to things being clean. OCD people don't count.



Men just don't have that genetic trait for cleaning. It must have been in that rib God used to make Eve. Every ounce of cleaning gene was in that rib. Men don't know how to clean a toilet, or close a door and clean behind it, or vacuum. Even if they do know how to vacuum, they don't know how to empty the bag so that the vacuum will actually work.



***Side note*** Have you ever noticed how you can't say "wow, my vacuum sucks?" People EXPECT a vacuum to suck...that's the whole point of the machine. But, a vacuum that sucks, ultimately doesn't suck. It works two ways. If the machine is functioning properly and is actually 'sucking' then it by definition does not suck and is a good machine. However, if the machine sucks, and is in fact broken, blocked, clogged, or is on deaths door, then it doesn't actually 'suck' any of the dirt out of your carpet. Weird....***End side note***

Alright, so maybe I'm stereotyping all teenage boys and 20something men. But I've got a lot to back it up. Men really shouldn't be allowed to live in a place without a woman.

Matt's had a few apartments now and they've all been pretty gross on move out day. He doesn't think it's that bad, when in actuality anyone who goes into his apartment should probably be wearing a bio-hazard suit. I've never seen a refrigerator look so nasty before. Something had either liquified or leaked into one of the vegetable drawers. There was an egg carton in there that looked like it had been runover by a truck. If I'd been brave enough I should have taken a picture and submitted it as a "this is your brain, this is your brain on drugs. Don't drink and drive" ad. There were cardboard wrappers and boxes lying in the fridge, the contents of said packaging long gone...or burried beneath the other crap in the fridge. I didn't touch the fridge....it was way too nasty.

On the other hand, I did have to clean up the bathroom. Enough said.

Part of me wants to know how someone gets red parafin wax on the blades of the ceiling fan....and the breaker box, but then I remember I really don't want to know any of that and I try to go to my happy place.

I also try to figure out how you let mouthwash stain the countertop. Don't you clean it right up? Or how you can let a bread wrapper sit on the counter long enough to transfer into the surface. And if you realize that it's the countertop's fault because it was made with silly putty, how come you don't put something down on the counter to prevent the wrappers from adhering to the countertop?

These things puzzle me, but not enough for me to really care. I was also pretty much completely un-fazed by the fact that Matt's roommate's mom and I did most of the cleaning. At least the big stuff. That woman deserves a parade for tackling the fridge.

But it wasn't just the cleaning...now maybe I'm biased...or maybe I got the gene from my grandmother, but I can pack an elephant in a peanut tin. Yes, I've done more than my fair share of moves, but I can accumulate crap and still manage to figure out how to pack it up into the same space. It's the whole tetris thing. Matt can't do tetris to save his ass. He doesn't know how to pack to maximize space. His packing method is from the school of 'grab and toss'. When you go to lift a cardboard box, and the bottom comes out because a.) the child forgot to tape it b.) loaded 150 lbs of books into a CARDBOARD BOX instead of a rubbermade bin, you know nothing is packed right. Of course, you probably wouldn't have to lift the box...you could look at the two bins in the living room that are 'ready to go' and have pajamas sticking out of the top or have food, four kitchen utensils and more clothes stuffed in. Or maybe your clue that Matt can't pack would come from the fact that each box has three or four shoes in it....none of which match. It's not like he had a pair and a half of shoes...nope! Three different shoes. It's like a bad probability problem from Middle School algebra.

So there you have it. God created women to clean and to pack. Some of us are better at it than others. Some of us come into our God given talent later in life. But when you peel all the layers of equality and empowerment and freedom away, Women are here to clean.

And now you know why I want a gold star.