Funny story:
Back 50,000 years ago, when Hubbo and I were still dating, he lived in a dorm room and I lived in an apartment so I'd often invite him over for homemade dinner. He never once offered to help with clean-up.

So one day I made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. He said, "I really don't like peanut butter and jelly."

I said, "Until you start helping in this kitchen, I'll make whatever I damn please. This is not a restaurant. He who wishes to eat in this kitchen, cooks and cleans in this kitchen. Otherwise, it's peanut butter and jelly."

He's been helping in the kitchen ever since -- and has become an expert in Nukebox Cuisine for the evenings when I go out for activities or with my friends.

Now for the rest of the house -- it's like pulling teeth -- but when I really want something done, I threaten to hire another housecleaner or handyman. And I've lowered my standards a little -- better to live with dust, than to become the maid.