When Esther and I got married, we hadn't discussed who would do what. We were in love, and in the '70s "love was all you needed." If there was such a thing as premarital counseling to help us figure this (and other things) out, somehow we missed it. The only "counseling" I recall was from my family doctor who for some reason scheduled me for a physical when I asked for the requisite blood test. Clearly uncomfortable with the topic, he mumbled that it would be wise to engage in some "fondling of the privates" prior to intercourse. With that, Esther and I headed to the altar.
We learned about fondling easily enough, but determining who does what—and more importantly, who ultimately calls the shots—has been harder. Both of us grew up in homes where it was clear that the man of the house was, well, the man of the house. Maybe because of that, but also because this was the '70s, neither of us was keen on my laying down the law. For one thing, the woman I married was smarter than I was, especially in the area of finances. So the "traditional" male role of controlling the purse strings fell to Esther. And as one learns in economics and marriage, whoever controls the money, controls.
So I guess you would say we have a somewhat unorthodox relationship. Esther is still the one who decides, with my input of course, which bills to pay when, how much to sock away in a savings account, and which charities, besides our church, to support.1