I am the first to admit that I am just not into being a housewife. The mere thought of it has me running for the hills – seriously. I cannot imagine a worse job that is never appreciated.
I grew up with my mum being a housewife, supporter of all sports/choir/plays and whatever else. I never gave much thought to how many hours a day she was cooking, cleaning and spending time on school activities. It never even dawned on me that maybe this wasn’t what she chose to do. It was just the way things were.
Simple tasks around the house, like cooking, sounds like a death sentence to me. I would rather change a plug/wash a car/bungee jump than have to be in the kitchen. I would go as far as volunteering to paint a whole house just to get out of kitchen duty. I actually don’t mind driving the 11km to work in 45 minutes just to get to an office where I fee unappreciated even if I am a decisive ninja with many powers. I don’t mind dressing up and playing the heartless bitch upstairs that never relents – I thrive on the daily grind and squishing male egoes.
