I'm not cut out to do housework

I know this because every time I find myself scraping soap scum out of the shower tray I feel this tidal wave of resentment wash over me. It's the same when I wade through an interminable pile of ironing or drag the hoover round the living room carpet and see the clods of popcorn get sucked up into the void from underneath the sofa.
I worked hard , went to university , got a good degree , clawed my way right to the very top of the glass ceiling and still ended up as an unpaid housemaid. My husband meanwhile gets to talk to grown ups every single day , has good days and bad days but at least feels fulfilled , stretched, challenged. Gets to moan about how hard he works to bring home a salary. How challenged can you feel at tipping out the food waste into the re-cycling bin that stinks of last nights diner and the night before's and the night before that. Today I went to the supermarket. I tipped the same old products into the trolley , hauled them out onto the conveyor belt , tipped them back into the trolley , hauled them out of the trolley into the boot of the car , dragged them out of the boot of the car and into the fridge or kitchen cupboards. I'm getting bored just writing about it let alone doing it week in week out.
If I had daughters I'd tell them not to aspire to anything as it will all end up the same way . How depressing is that ?