Tuesday Night Choreplay -- What Really Happens When Men Lean Into Their Housework

Research shows that when men do their share of chores, their partners are happier and less depressed, conflicts are fewer and divorce rates are lower... Couples who share chores equally have more sex... Sheryl [Sandberg], has advised men that if they want to do something nice for their partners, instead of buying flowers, they should do laundry. A man who heard this was asked by his wife one night to do a load of laundry. He picked up the basket and asked hopefully, "Is this Lean In laundry?" Choreplay is real.

- The New York Times, March 5, 2015.

Honey! You're home! And you look like you've had a long day. What do you say we turn down the lights and share a little intimate time, just you and me and this Miele S-2000 canister vacuum? Who needs music when we can set the mood to the sound of a thousand hairs being sucked into a dust bag? Before we were married, I didn't know it was possible for a woman to leave a literal carpet of hair on the bathroom floor. Now, every day I can't resist the raw temptation to pre-sweep and power-suck and lovingly finger-pluck the long dark strands from our contrasting, creamy-colored tile until the futility of this task washes over me and I submit wholly to the constant, Pantene-smooth reminder of your presence. Since you walked through the door I'm sure you shed half a wig's worth. Let's get this party started.

Now that we've set the proper ambiance, I want to take you into the kitchen and bend you over the dishwasher as I empty it. And then fill it. And then empty it. And then fill it. And then empty it. And then fill it allllll the way up again. Should I also put away that pile of tupperware that has been sitting on the counter for over a month? I don't know about you, but I love how those soup and salad containers stack one inside the other. The fit is always just right.

Would it get your juices flowing if I hand washed all of your panties in the sink, ringing out each pair ever-so-slowly before stretching them across the curved lines of your drying rack? And please don't make me beg you. OK, make me beg you. Pleeeease can I collect every sock you own into my warm and capable arms, so I can coax them into the washing machine for a delicate, soapy massage? After I take them for a tumble in the dryer and they're nice and hot, I'll probe deep inside the machine and snatch that last naughty sock that always seems to be hiding.

Next, I want you to join me in the shower so I can spray Scrubbing Bubbles everywhere, scouring the tile and glass until we can't see each other through all the sweat and foam. After I towel you off with a warm, dry sock (did I forget to do towels?), I will lay you down on the couch before I illuminate the room with a dozen Glade candles. I've read their fresh linen scent lasts at least 20 percent longer than Febreze. Now relax as I reorganize our library into a complex, coded system that positions Rosemary's Baby between Dante's Inferno and The Joy of Sex, and your childhood copy of The Giving Tree beneath a giant pile of unopened junk mail. By the way, did you know that you married the Ron Jeremy of dusting bookshelves? I'm going to let you interpret exactly what that means.

When the shelves have been satisfied, I will crouch down next to you in the living room. Shhhh, don't speak. Concentrate on the soothing hum of my voice and the sensation of my hot breath as I whisper tomorrow's grocery list in your ear. Maybe I'll buy that almond butter you like even though it's inexplicably $14 dollars and, I'm pretty sure, made of sawdust. What if I throw caution to the wind and just go for the honey smoked turkey instead of the maple glazed, and then totally indulge by redeeming not one, but two coupons for "any brand of yogurt sold at Whole Foods"? I'll be sure to get the ones that are free of hormones -- we clearly have enough of those raging inside of us already.

As you allow the sweet torture of my mystery shopping trip to wash over you, I will revive yesterday's Chinese leftovers for a meal that will really make you salivate. Do you want your moo shu shrimp warmed slowly and lovingly in the oven, or given to you quick and dirty from the microwave? You can have it any way you want.

Hold on, baby, that's not all I've got. Pour yourself a glass of wine as I sew on all your missing buttons nice and tightly and water the plants until they scream for mercy. Watch me plow through your taxes and plunge into the dog food bag to feed little Sparky.

Just when you think I couldn't get you any more riled up, I'm going take out the trash. Watch as I ruthlessly recycle a year's worth of Dwell magazine and pile up our plastics until their designated container is ready to burst. Then, I'm going to run the composter until you pant, breathlessly, "You're making me so turned on!" Though this confession will actually been directed at a rerun of "Charlie Rose," I'll know your heart (and loins) are in the right place.

Finally, I will slink into the bedroom, lay out some lingerie, lean into our freshly made bed and we will totally have sex tomorrow.