The trouble with living alone is that it’s always my turn to do the dishes.

My OnlyFans is just me loading the dishwasher correctly.

Kinda sucks that the prize for washing your laundry is getting to fold your laundry.

People who wear jeans for fun around their house have bodies buried in their backyard.

Unloading the dishwasher in the opposite direction just to feel something.

After you do your laundry, you should be allowed to get in the dryer and tumble for a little. No charge.

One day my kids will move out and discover the dishes don’t clean themselves and I feel for them. I really do.

The term “domestic housewife” implies the existence of a feral housewife and that is what I aspire to be.

Dear women, when you’re not around we load the dishwasher properly.

Shuffling into the kitchen in a robe Sunday morning to change the clock on the microwave is the lamest form of time travel ever.

I told my wife the laundry on the couch ain’t gonna fold itself, so if y’all don’t hear from me later, she probably folded me like an omelet.

My wife refuses to hire a housekeeper because she doesn’t want them to see this mess.

Marriage is between two people: one person who is on the verge of sleep and one person who is asking if the front door is locked.

Our house is so messy that if we ever disappeared, the police would have no idea if there were “signs of a struggle”.

“You don’t load the dishwasher right,” I said to my wife just before it permanently became my job.

As a wife and mother my hobbies include rage cleaning, rage cooking, and rage folding.

Yesterday my husband thought he saw a cockroach in the kitchen. He sprayed and cleaned everything thoroughly. Today I’m putting the cockroach in the bathroom.

My idea of housework is to sweep the room with a glance.