Economy hour learn to share a or theres hell to pay

Have you ever had a roommate? If not a spouse would do just fine. Picture this: a regular apartment, regular people in it. You have your average dog, a few rugs inherited from grandmama, home appliances, - ah, home appliances... when it comes to blenders and vacuum cleaner, we men are unable to grasp their complicated functioning.

There are just too many things that could be dangerous to our peachy complexion. So many sharp points that could harm our precious selves. Now, when it comes to TV sets, well, that's a different matter. We are masters of the remote. We know how to operate it and we enjoy it.

One can have all he needs (provided there's enough beer and the occasional pretzel). Misfortunately, the TV set seems to also attract the spouse. Ay, there's the rub. For who would bear to see his beloved football match replaced by Geraldo, or even (oh the horror) Oprah.

I mean it's a known fact that Oprah causes irreparable damage to the spouse persona, which then directly affects the "master of the house" and in a few short months the unbelievable follows - she joins a feminist group and brings all members to the house for cookies and a seance.

Gone are the days when you could watch as two people kick their minds off in a boxing match without having a flock of Oprah adepts screaming "TV violence!" in your ears. Now, we are all honourable men but there's a limit to everything. And we draw the line at football.

Usually when it's about football the "she" of the house looks at us congenially and adds a dash of pity. "Poor guys, they know no better - let them have their fun for a while. They're only men. Everyone knows they cannot be properly trained. There's no harm in a little fun for them every once in a while." But this changes when the match happens to coincide with the favourite soap-opera of the month.

Then it's: "You know I work all day and when I get home I have to cook for you and the kids, AND go to the market, AND clean after you AND on top of that I have to put up with your friends who act as they don't have a home of their own.

Now I expect to be left alone every once in a while (read daily) to watch a little romance. It's not that you're overabundant in that respect! If you only took me places like those hunks on TV take their brides. I can't even remember the last time you took me to a theatre or to a really nice restaurant and I'm not speaking of that Greasy Burger hole in the ground you take me when you do remember I exist."

At this point we actually start realising that maybe the match is not worth THAT much pain and start backing up a little. "Now honey, you know that's not true. I mean I know that you like that soap but honey, it's a really important game. Here let me explain: if we score this time we may stand a chance in the final against the ..." Now that is a big mistake you don't want to do.

As soon as you try taking her away from what she specialised in - like giving you a hard time, she will become a raging banshee: "Don't you dare! If I hear one more word related to sport I will blow a fuse. Or even better I will go to the garage, grab your beloved flextorque and take it to the TV with exquisite artistry.

You will then have no reason to tell me I don't show enough interest for YOUR activities. What about my pleasures? I don't remember you ever been interested in mascara or ever taking me to a fashion show." By now we are on the verge and take our hat and go see the match at the neighbor's.

At least Paul next door has only a dog to put up with. On the way out we still hear her: "When you return, don't dare bring that good-for-nothing bum with you. If I make one more sandwich for Paul I go to mother!"