Hear that? That tinkling sound someone makes when putting silverware in the dishwasher? The clatter of someone removing plates from the dinner table? The sounds of someone rinsing glasses and wiping cups? Someone sounds pretty busy. Do you know who that someone is?

It’s your wife.

And what are you doing? You’re sitting in front of your computer looking up the new dates for Little Feat and Tony Bennett, while your wife slaves away keeping hearth and home in tip-top shape. Come on, don’t you feel just a little ashamed?

Yeah, we know your story. You work hard all day so that you can come home and plop your butt behind the keyboard and look up concert dates on Pollstar.com. Maybe you’re looking for those additional dates for Madonna, or perhaps you just want to stay up to date with Tesla and Journey. No matter. You’re surfing the concert universe while your wife is vacuuming the carpet, dusting the furniture and scraping underneath the toilet rim. Have you no pride?

We’ve heard a lot about you. You and other so-called men, husbands who come in from a hard day’s work only to go right to the computer to check out the new John Mayer tour or the special guests on the Dave Matthews Band tour. Meanwhile, the wives change the cat box, mow the lawn and rotate the tires on the SUV. Is this any way for real men to act?

Are you really this clueless? Haven’t you figured out by now that your wife loves concerts as much as you do? In fact, we’re betting that she’d love to sit down and look up the new schedules for Nelly Furtado and The Motet. That is, if she didn’t have to clean out the garage, take out the garbage and snake out the drains, while Mr. Till-Death-Do-Us-Part sits around on his fat fanny clicking on Britney Spears, Metallica and Ill Nino.

Ashamed? You should be. We’re talking about your companion, your soul mate, your best friend. We’re talking about how you lock yourself in here night after night as you check out the latest haps in the concert industry while your wife works her fingers to the bones to ensure there’s a hot meal waiting for you when you get home, and a newly-flushed radiator for the drive back to work tomorrow. And how do you thank her? By rushing to the computer and looking up itineraries for Sheryl Crow and Guster. Is this any way to treat your lover, your goddess, your queen? She needs help. No, not later. Now. And you’re the only one that can do it.

That’s right. Get off your butt and send the kids in to help her. After all, why else did you have children?