“You like to cook?” “No. I hate it, actually.” “Why?” “All that work just to make something that’s gone five minutes later.” I don’t tell him the other reason—I hate doing anything that’s expected of me just because I’m a woman. Cooking, cleaning, childcare . . . I bristle against the idea that I should want to do those things. That I should let them consume me while men spend their hours on more “important” work.
