Maya

“Twenty-five years,” Mum says, glancing over her shoulder with a smile. “And it’s all about compromise, I’d say.”

“Like how you always let Dad watch the telly after dinner and you tidy up?” I say, raising my eyebrows.

“Exactly. He cooks!”

“But you do all the thinking about what to make,” I point out. “And the shop.”

She frowns. “We each do our fair share.”

There is no point talking to my mother about mental load. For her, Dad is the ultimate modern man because he irons his own shirts.”
― Beth O'Leary, The Road Trip