On our refrigerator is a tattered "Doonesbury" comic strip from Aug. 4, 1980, published almost one year after our first child was born.

In the first frame of the strip, the husband volunteers to "help" his wife give their child a bath. In the second frame, the wife, miffed by his approach, retaliates, noting that "help implies that caring for our child is basically my responsibility," and that by offering to help, "you are doing me a favor."

I don't remember what prompted me to cut out that cartoon 25 years ago, but I suspect a similar incident occurred between my husband and me. And even though our three children are well beyond the bath-giving age, disagreements over household responsibilities continue to bubble to the surface every now and then.

Take, for example, the conversation we had this past week. One morning, I had reminded him that we needed milk, and that he might as well get the other groceries on the list, which we also keep on the refrigerator.

"I got your groceries on my way home today," my husband reported over the phone. I was still at work, and Steve, who had a short work day, had stopped at the store on his way home.

"My groceries?" I asked sarcastically. "Why are they my groceries?"

"Well, you do most of the cooking," he responded, and from the catch in his voice I could tell he had regrettably stumbled into an area he wished he had avoided - my fixing dinner.

I have done most of the cooking since we were married almost 30 years ago, but recently I've been trying to involve him more in preparing meals.

Because of my long commute, I get home later than he does, and we don't usually eat until back-to-back episodes of "Everybody Loves Raymond" are over, usually around 8 o'clock. (If he cooked, we could eat during the first show and clean up during the second.)

Later that evening, as I was preparing dinner, I opened the refrigerator to find that he had indeed bought groceries, but not necessarily the groceries I wanted.

Instead of leaf lettuce there was head lettuce. "If you want leaf lettuce, then don't just write down lettuce," he countered.

There was 2-percent milk instead of skim, and three boxes of iodized salt (a buy one, get two free sale).

"What am I supposed to do with all of this salt?" I asked, launching into a litany of complaints about his grocery shopping.

It was then that I remembered the final frame of the "Doonesbury" comic strip.

After the wife convinces her husband to try a different approach, he returns and offers to "co-nurture" their child during bath time.

Instead of accepting his offer, though, she looks up at him and grumbles, "No, you always get the floor wet."

When it comes to doing household chores, we women can be difficult to please.