Disclaimer: This article is intended to be tongue-in-cheek. Steve does not exist and any resemblance he holds to any real people is purely coincidental.
It was Tuesday morning. Steve rolled over and sleepily groped the empty space on the bed next to him, his wife was gone.
He untangled himself from the sheets and got up. “Carol?” he called through the house. Nothing. Carol was already at work.
Steve walked past the twins’ room, which was empty but for a few Lego bricks strewn across the rug.
He picked them up and popped them in their box without a moment’s hesitation. Good one, me, he thought.
Steve trod along the corridor past the vacuum. Carol had run out of time to put it away before the school run.
No matter, thought Steve, she’ll get to it later.
It was a quarter to nine, Time to get a wriggle on. Steve was a freelance graphic designer.
Happily, the percolator was still warm on the stove, so he poured himself a coffee. There was only just enough milk—Carol had been a little overzealous with the boys’ cereal that morning.
He grabbed a cookie from the jar on the bench. He loved cookies and almost always ate them all.
The rest of the day passed without much ado. Over lunch, Steve read at moving article about a dad who bought his ex-wife flowers for her birthday.
What a nice dude, he mused.
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Around three a text came through: "Is there any milk? I need some for the bechamel - C".
It was a little early in the day, but Steve had done enough work, probably. Besides, he wanted to make sure all the ingredients were there for lasagne night. Steve was good like that.
He jumped in the Commodore, headed down to Woolies and did a quick shop. He didn't just stop at milk either, oh no. Steve bought eggs, bread, even some veggies for the next day.
Back home, he took a quick selfie and popped it on his wife's Facebook wall. She'll love this, he thought.
Carol did love it. So did her friends and family.
"You're so lucky," Sheryl from school commented.
"Now THAT's a man," her mum replied.
The snap quickly spread across the Internet as more and more women tagged their good-for-nothing husbands in the comments section:
"This is how you do it, @Joe."
"Vous pourriez apprendre quelque chose, @Pierre."
"*winky face* @Dave."
Within hours, it had gone viral and the next day Steve got a call. It was one of the selectors for the Father of the Year awards.
"What me, nominated?" always-humble Steve said down the phone. He couldn't believe it—last year's winner had been the "golden dad" who didn't pay any child support.
"It just seemed like the decent thing to do."
As he hung up, Steve made a mental note to remind Carol to update her security settings on Facebook.
Women, he thought, munching on another cookie.