Oh God! I’m a housewife!
Just when did this happen? And is it true (as it seems) that housewifery automatically turns the victim into a control freak?
I find myself muttering that “I’m going to have coffee-colored countertops next time” when I’m wiping the kitchen counter for the 900th time that morning (why can’t they make non-drip coffeepots?).
I get annoyed when I see leftovers uneaten in the fridge and greenish-hued bread on the counter. “Didn’t you see the bacon you specifically asked me to buy you sitting on the shelf in plain sight?”
This is so totally not what I thought what I’d be doing at this point in my life. I’ve got two degrees! And, more importantly, no children, so why am I shopping during the day, doing laundry during the week, and cooking every night?
Pretty soon, I’m going to start schlepping around in sweats and mules, and watching daytime TV and eating chocolates by the kilo. By then I probably won’t care what’s spilled on the counters.
