Confessions Of A Happy Housewife

Despite my best intentions, my marriage isn’t new or hip or trendy. I cook and clean. He does the lawn and the taxes. I sew curtains and decorate. He watches the budget and fixes the garbage disposal. It’s not that way because I am trying to reverse the women’s movement; it’s just that our marriage works better that way. I am a better cook. He’s a whiz at taxes. I really enjoy a nicely Swiffered floor. He loves multiple trips to Home Depot. Call it genetics. Call it culture. It’s who we are. I used to feel guilty that my marriage seemed so normal. When I got married, I imagined my marriage would be different. I wanted to bust up traditions. Reinvent what marriage meant. I was determined not to let my marriage resemble the traditional roles of my parents’ relationship. So, two months after I said “I do,” when I found myself unemployed and picking up my husband’s socks off the floor, I started to cry. When Dave came home and found me sobbing on the couch, I threw my apron at him. “You make dinner!” He made hot dogs and mac and cheese from a box. Breaking down traditions didn’t taste as good as I thought it would. Read more

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