The Overweight Housewife

9 days…. after setting a goal of writing every day.

I went to the grocery store today. I’m usually friendly, let the person with less groceries in his cart go ahead. The grocery store line is not so interesting. I haven’t felt good – my insides are turning themselves inside out and I ate about 1/2 of a bag of Cheetos so that grease was lubricating a pipe where my whole grains, strawberries and freshly pressed pineapple juice could block up and pass through. Disgusting, so what?

Anyway there is a point to this post. Waiting in line I decided to stand behind the groceries. The man behind me, dressed in a burgundy pressed dress shirt and shiny black shoes, was getting off work and getting something for his dinner. I thought to myself, He thinks he’s getting extra points in good citizenship land if he gives the overweight housewife instructions on how to check out in a grocery store she has been in a thousand times.

I felt pretty bad about myself. Then I remembered –

I’m not overweight anymore. So what if I was? I’d still deserve some help – even if I looked Valliumed-out. And what if I was “just” a housewife. It’s something an innumerably number of families work thier bottoms off to have – it’s called a “full-time mom” these days anyway. And I’m not “just” a housewife. I’m an artist who regularly sells her work and I’m a writer.

But if I were just a “full-time mom” that would be okay, too. I respect and love many “full-time moms”. I don’t know why I think it’s beneath me.

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One response to “The Overweight Housewife

  • dsb

    Men are witness’s to all they survey. (So are women)
    I think IV winessed your thoughts in my wife many times.
    Some times without even saying a word.

    Life is life and some times Im a knuckle head, some times im a friend.
    IM proud to have learned to be able to zip thru the self checkout with little to no drama. But My wife dosnt want to hear it cause it dosnt make sense to her. I would love to be able to teach her how to zip thru the self checkout.

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