Last week, I made not one, not two, but three trips to my daughter's high school — and school doesn't start for another three days! First, I had to drop off the emergency contact card so I could pick up my daughter's schedule (they finally fixed it, btw, she's no longer expected in two different classes at the same time). Then, I had to make another trip because I forgot a signed copy of the "Massachusetts Anti-Hazing Policy." (Note to self: read emails from principal more closely prior to driving over there.) Finally, I had to submit a formal request to change a course (it was later denied).
As I marched across the school parking lot for the umpteenth time, it occurred to me (again) that what we need is a wife.
A good old-fashioned, circa 1950s, housewife.
Trips to the school aren't the only reason. A wife would be very helpful in the grocery shopping department. Here's a (by no means complete) list of the foodstuffs and staples that we are currently out of: toilet paper, deli meat, furniture polish, milk, dishwashing detergent, butter, hamburger rolls and produce of any kind. (Note to local readers: my life (outside of "wife") isn't the only reason the cupboard's so bare. We're waiting for the return of Artie T! Google "Market Basket.")
Laundry also could use some attention. When my daughter was little, we got away with three modest once-a-week loads: whites, darks, delicates. I always marveled at my friends who somehow kept multiple children (including softball players and boys) in clean clothes. Then, my daughter discovered horseback riding. Now, we pretty much fill a hamper every other day and the bathroom smells like a barn.
And, then there are errands. Currently, we have clothes that need tailoring, boots that need mending, three huge packages that need to be returned via UPS, checks to be deposited, stamps to be purchased, and a perpetual trophy (the "Lockwood Bowl" from a recent equestrian event) that needs to be engraved. Where's my wife?
Finally, of course, there's the house. Our crooked antique accumulates dust faster than a teenager texts. We have so many nooks and crannies, so little time. It is not just a losing battle, it's a losing battle that makes me sneeze. In fact, with Halloween on the horizon, I might just stop trying and watch the whole place disappear under cobwebs. I'll put on some creepy music and maybe we can charge admission.
Here's a fantasy of mine ... I arrive home from a long but productive afternoon with clients. Lo and behold, my house is spotlessly clean. My child is upstairs, obediently finishing her homework. The dining table is beautifully set and the kitchen is fragrant with a succulent home-cooked meal. My dear wife meets me at the door, wearing pearls and a sweater set, not a hair out of place. She takes my briefcase and hands me a martini.
Yes, please. I would like a wife.
The pearls and the sweater set are optional.
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