Mrs M is an organised person. Which is just as well. Although I sometimes tease her about her endless lists and notes, the reality is she is always on top of what needs doing, who gave what when, what goes where and how it all fits. She's also a reality TV addict but that's another story. What all of this means is often things are arranged in a particular manner. If things are not replaced in the precise spot they are meant to go the whole edifice falls apart.

Where this really comes into its own is the kitchen and in particular the fridge. We have a collection of pots, pans, plastic containers and assorted other jars. They are all different shapes and sizes and happen to be PB's favourite toy. A quick kitchen raid by PB and there's lids and jars all over the apartment. Being a family of two adults, two kids (one on the way) and a dog means even our large size fridge can often get full. Very full. A few days worth of leftovers, milk, orange juice, nail polish (don't ask), milk, beer, vegies, milk, dog medicines, eggs, milk and some milk can make a heavily burdened set of shelving. This requires delicate balancing. The right set of containers must be used to balance between the available space and the required storage. Then the entire jigsaw must be put together in a delicate mosaic of Tupperware, glass and plastic. Removing any one piece of the puzzle is similar to that game with the wooden blocks, where pulling one piece out may or may not bring the whole thing down.

Enter the male of the house. In a typically male trying to be a helpful and sensitive new age father I insert myself into the kitchen. Yes, this means I get in the way. But it means I feel I am helping and can assuage my patriarchal guilt a little (that's thousands of years of male oppression I'm making up for). So I go near the fridge. In a typically male cack-handed way I simply pulling what I need out and worry about the cascading tumble of containers as they fall. Hence my good juggling skills. The real problem comes when returning said container to the fridge. This process usually takes several minutes of to-ing and fro-ing, rearranging and considering before some kind of balance is restored. Balance being the operative word. The next person to open the fridge is likely to topple the teetering temple of Tupperware. But that's not my concern. All I care about is getting that fridge door shut. And you can't cheat with our fridge. In what some bright spark in the whitegoods maker decided the fridge should beep if the door is left open too long. That sucks.

So the man of the house stuffs everything into the fridge. It may not be pretty but it works. After a fashion. Despite years of watching Mrs M performing the same task in a matter of seconds and with perfect arrangements I will never get the hang of it. It's just not part of my genetic make-up. There have been times after a particularly stressful re-arrangement of the fridge that I stand back and gaze in wonder at what I've created. It may sound sad but I challenge anyone to do the same. Except Mrs M. She's the expert.

That said I mounted a full-length mirror on the bedroom door on my own. On the right side. Perfectly straight and in the middle. First time. Of course Mrs M could have done it too. Makes you wonder what we need men for.