I didn’t know what it was like to be a housewife. There was never a reason for me to know since I have been married to a woman who has been filling that role quite nicely.
Besides – I was born a boy.
Forgive me, but I am a victim of a culture that once believed that guys don’t do the dishes, laundry and other household chores “as otherwise defined.” I don’t know who got that started – but I’m guessing it was a guy.
Until recently, I enjoyed having to do nothing but sitting in my chair to have dinner delivered each night. I was quite happy to discover socks I threw in the hamper appeared later folded and tucked nicely in my drawer.
And how I enjoyed those delicious aromas that filled the house without even having to be in the kitchen!
Dishes? There always seemed to be plenty of clean dishes and eating utensils available whenever needed.
This utopia household bliss blew up like a stick of dynamite with a short fuse the day my wife fell and broke her arm. Doris, being her usual self, did not break her arm like most broken arms go – she was careful to be her unique self and break her arm in a way that has required longer healing time – with some extra therapy thrown in.
So, I discovered in one day how all the magic in our house works – sort of like a behind-the-scenes look at Disneyland you know? However, knowing how the rides work isn’t necessary for me to enjoy the rides –
relative ignorance is the key to my enjoyment you might say.
I was actually pretty proud of myself for making dinner, doing the dishes, even taking care of the laundry after we brought Doris home from the hospital.
It wasn’t until I realized that everything I did would have to be repeated each day that I lost all interest in being a housewife.
What’s it like to be a housewife?
NOW I KNOW