CONFESSIONS
From A Bona Fide Desperate Housewife By Georgie Riccio Oh yes, I became a bona fide desperate housewife years before the show, Desperate Housewives, hit Sunday night's small screen. As a stay-at-home freelance writer and wife, I dillydally in all things desperate on a daily basis. So allow me to air some of my dirty laundry: In between meeting editorial deadlines, I've experienced the crush on the pool boy, flirted with the FedEx delivery dude and batted an eyelash or two at my handsome neighbors. I've even - gasp! - fetched the mail in my Brazilian-cut boy shorts and four-inch stilettos for all the neighbors to reap the fruits of countless lunges alongside my personal trainer. I've teased the Starbucks barista who makes my morning mochachinos, and the car wash cutie and I are on a first-name basis. I've waged smaller, less scandalous battles as well. Some days I'll refuse to pick up hubby's dry cleaning or I'll order takeout seven nights in a row. The reason for this reckless behavior? I truly am not sure, so I decided to ask some fellow stay-at-homers in hopes of ironing out the "why women rage against domestication" issue once and for all.
"Listen to me - the life of a professional wife is a blessed one. But don't get me wrong. There are times I'd like to gouge my eyes out. I mean, seriously, Tar-jey runs do get tedious and I do miss water cooler conversations," says one stay-at-home mom. Another desperate damsel tells me, "My day begins at 11 a.m. - that's a lot of time to kill before my husband comes home at 7. And let's face it - all my closest friends are at work, making the lunch buddy pickings slim." An additional anonymous source says, "Some days I don't even get dressed and leave the house. I feel like a bloody walking, talking TV Guide." I was even told, "To hell with the feminist movement, make the men bring home the bacon!" So upon further reflection, it hit me like a maxed-out MasterCard statement. You see, while I live the traditional life of the happy homemaker, I do feel that modern-day society dictates that I should be out there, in the workforce, collecting a paycheck every two weeks like clockwork. I am aware of the fact that women who work from home are perceived as "dabblers" (read: unserious entrepreneurs). It's also become obvious that outsiders sadly view me as a lazy, un-ambitious tart when this notion is furthest from the truth. So it's now clear as gin that my wild ways are a form of rebellion against these stereotypes. I ultimately find myself acting mischievously because it's my way of saying: piss off, all you housewife haters.
Perhaps I'm just paranoid or maybe I am dead wrong. But the fact remains - I cannot deny the feeling that the life of a happy homemaker is looked down upon. I cannot help but feel bad when my friends make snide statements like, "You just have too much time on your hands!" Or when hubby jokes, "Busy day at the salon, honey?" And when mother nags, "Just have kids already, don't you feel empty?" |
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