A Woman’s Place…or…Go Make Me a Sandwich, Woman.

Mike thinks that I am afraid of being domestic.  He could not be more wrong.  I would be an excellent stay-at-home mom/housewife.  Us Cancers love domesticity and taking care of others; just consult any astrology book. I may hide it well, but deep down Mike knows I’m fiercely traditional (ok, maybe not fiercely).  I’ve hidden it very well for the last few years, but I welcome marriage and stability with open arms.  Unfortunately, in today’s world, vacuuming in heels and pearls while making your husband a sandwich, while prepping the house for his return home, while keeping yourself beautiful, is slightly outdated and looked down upon…given women’s lib and all that. Which is ok, because in my version I vacuum in heels and pearls, prep the house for his return from work, feed him an amazing dinner, tuck the kids in bed while he reads the paper and smokes his pipe in the living room, then he bends me over the kitchen table while I’m cleaning and ruins my perfect image…preferably with a pipe still in his mouth…but whatever.  Same difference.

Sex in the kitchen = YES
Barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen = NO

Trust me, there are no more babies in this domestic fantasy.  Luckily, that special day of the year is coming up that gives us all permission to live out our fantasies and be whatever we want – whether that is a slutty nurse, a slutty cat, a slutty cop, a slutty cowgirl…you get the idea. (Why must most women be sluts on Halloween? and aren’t all cats sluts when they’re in heat?)
I’m living out my fantasy in full force, except my 50’s housewife is secretly slutty.  Until she blogs, then she’s slutty for all the world to see, of course.  So, for one glorious day, I’ll pretend to be everything that I’m not. (years of independence have created the 21st century whirlwind that is my life) Mike will be the Ward to my June, because he likes to chase the Beaver (his words, not mine).  He’s going to give the Beaver a good licking, too, because the Beaver has been bad (my words, not his).

Anyhoo, domesticity will be at its vintage finest in October.  Until then, maybe I’ll try to control the kids a little better, make dinner more, serve my man, and “understand his world of strain” like an excerpt from Helen B. Andelin’s Fascinating Womanhood says I should.

I hope Mike is ok with pizza and a blow job after I scream at the kids to go to their room.

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