Trophy husbands

November 20th, 2006

The UK Sunday Times ran an endlessly amusing article yesterday, “Trophy Husbands,” about women breadwinners and their underemployed and/or “house manager” husbands. According to one UK survey, 39 percent of women in that country who work full time believe that they earn more than their partners — “believe” being the operative word here, because as one headhunter quoted in the article says, “You could probably get more people to talk to you on the record about how often they have sex.”

The article goes on to say that 1.8 million women who work full time in the UK earn more than their male partners. What’s more, the Office for National Statistics reports that 14 percent of UK men now work at home (i.e., change diapers all day), compared with just 8 percent of women. And evidently the times, they are a-changin’ so much that we now get to witness a surge in male gold diggers, underappreciated househusbands, and women leaving their husbands for their male nannies.

Of course, the crux of the article lies with this statement:

It’s clear that both men and women are struggling to deal with these altered dynamics.

Meaning, men are the new women. Or maybe women are the new men. Or now anyone can be overworked and underappreciated. Or act like a total sexist ass.

Growing pains aside, cultural shifts like this thrill me to no end, especially when they bring women closer to wielding the same power in the business world as their male counterparts and earning the same salaries, if not more. And especially when they help some underappreciative men see what goes into running a household and an army of rugrats from dawn till dusk.

And I’m sorry, guys, I don’t mean to smirk a little at some of the “My! How the tables have turned!” tales in the article, but I can’t help it. It’s kind of like the first time a boyfriend who was more domestic than me whined, “I cook for you, I clean for you, and what do I get in return? Zero appreciation!” I have to confess, I was so giddy over this role reversal (probably because I watched my dad come home from the office and ask my working mom “What’s for dinner?” all those years) that I threw a dishrag at my poor underappreciated hausfrau boyfriend, asked him to drape it from his waist like an apron, and begged him to repeat the statement.

Needless to say, I didn’t get any nookie that night.

Entry Filed under: Glass ceiling,Money honey,Working moms