The Other Side
At a big exposition, I spent a week shaking hands, hugging people, and in general keeping what passes for charm with me on the uppermost side. This trade show is an annual event, and one I look forward to very much throughout the year. I'm always working hard at a job that I love, but this trade show is basically the week where everything comes together - the work, the connections I've made, everything clicks into place and I feel like I'm on top of the world.
When it ends, the participants all feel a little drained and a little hungover, so a few days of vacation are called for. Thus far, I've spent those days in total retro mode. I've cooked dinner, set up the sewing machine to hem my husband's pants, done laundry, waited for plumbers, fetched groceries, and so on. It's been about as intellectually challenging as the ant bait I put behind the trashcan. And it hasn't been so bad, playing the part of the little wifey. Actually, I've pretty much enjoyed myself.
Oh, I'm not worried that I secretly long to be a homemaker. This is only day two and I'm already slightly bored. I keep wanting to check my email, call a reporter, work on an article. I'm trying to stay on vacation, so I'm writing articles for my neighborhood newsletter and cleaning the bathroom to keep my mind off work. If cleaning the bathroom was my actual work, I'd go insane. Since it's not the focus of my identity, hemming my husband's pants makes me feel good, as if I've contributed to our partnership in a loving way.
I'd be on some kind of prescription-only Mother's Little Helper before I could sneeze if I had to fill my days with laundry. I'd learn to cook elaborate meals and make wedding gowns by hand and clean behind the fridge just to say that I excelled at something. I'd call my husband five times a day just to hear another adult's voice. No wonder there are so many stereotypes that hail from the days when women would quit their jobs when they got married.
But instead of a trip to Deeply Neurotic Land, I'm listening to the soothing hum of the sewing machine and admitting that I do have this side to my personality that enjoys arranging cheese slices into patterns on serving trays. Maybe the things that make me a closet scrapbooker and a secret hemmer of pants are the things that make me good at my professional job.
I wonder what my grandmother could have been if she hadn't gotten married.
When it ends, the participants all feel a little drained and a little hungover, so a few days of vacation are called for. Thus far, I've spent those days in total retro mode. I've cooked dinner, set up the sewing machine to hem my husband's pants, done laundry, waited for plumbers, fetched groceries, and so on. It's been about as intellectually challenging as the ant bait I put behind the trashcan. And it hasn't been so bad, playing the part of the little wifey. Actually, I've pretty much enjoyed myself.
Oh, I'm not worried that I secretly long to be a homemaker. This is only day two and I'm already slightly bored. I keep wanting to check my email, call a reporter, work on an article. I'm trying to stay on vacation, so I'm writing articles for my neighborhood newsletter and cleaning the bathroom to keep my mind off work. If cleaning the bathroom was my actual work, I'd go insane. Since it's not the focus of my identity, hemming my husband's pants makes me feel good, as if I've contributed to our partnership in a loving way.
I'd be on some kind of prescription-only Mother's Little Helper before I could sneeze if I had to fill my days with laundry. I'd learn to cook elaborate meals and make wedding gowns by hand and clean behind the fridge just to say that I excelled at something. I'd call my husband five times a day just to hear another adult's voice. No wonder there are so many stereotypes that hail from the days when women would quit their jobs when they got married.
But instead of a trip to Deeply Neurotic Land, I'm listening to the soothing hum of the sewing machine and admitting that I do have this side to my personality that enjoys arranging cheese slices into patterns on serving trays. Maybe the things that make me a closet scrapbooker and a secret hemmer of pants are the things that make me good at my professional job.
I wonder what my grandmother could have been if she hadn't gotten married.
posted by Sanya at 9:44 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home