In a recent Newsweek edition, there was an article about the TLC show “The Secret Life of a Soccer Mom”. Basically, the idea behind the show is the producers give a stay at home mom a chance at the career she stopped to be at home with her kids. There’s been some negative and positive feedback about the television show (in case you’re wondering, my opinion is, do what makes you happy, but don’t decide to be a stay at home mom, and then go on an effing reality television show and whine about what you gave up. If you need to work to be happy, THEN WORK. DUH!!!!). In the comments section after the article, one women posted that stay at home moms are “Glorified Prostitutes”.
I HAD NO IDEA I WAS A WORKING GIRL!
Wow! I am super exicted about this! Here, I thought all I was doing was making the choice that made me happiest and worked best for my family. I figured at most, I was a pretty good house keeper, chef, and boo-boo kisser. My skills at block building are getting better every day, and I’ve come up with some really excellent silly songs just for my daughter. I consider it a big deal if I get up the time and the energy to put on actual clothes and get out of my pj’s. We won’t talk about how rare it is that I actually fix my hair and put on make up, and I honestly couldn’t tell you the last time I wore a pair of “Fuck Me” heels.
Maybe I’m wrong, but the last time I checked, don’t prostitutes wear makeup and fix their hair? Aren’t their clothes exceedingly slutty and tend to stay away from the baggy track pants set? And isn’t it a requirement to have at least 3 inches of platform on your shoes to even qualify?
And what about the “glorified” part of it? I gotta tell ya, dear reader, that I have yet to feel any glory when I’m cleaning the toilet, especially the one my husband frequents. I most definately am not feeling my most glorious when the ass I’m wiping isn’t my own. Not to mention the glory that goes along with begging and bribing your three year old with a bag of M & M’s to please just sit on the potty for a few minutes. Maybe I missed feeling glory when my daughter, in a fit of ten day old rage at being given her first full bath since her belly stump fell off, decided that the best way to retaliate at the jerks who had the audacity to bathe her was to shit all over her bath towel.
But hey, at least my husband’s thrilled. Now when someone asks what his wife does for a living, he can grin mischeviously and tell them he can’t really say, but it is illegal in 49 states.
Hope you all have a wonderful weekend!