There must be something wrong with me. Or I might be an anti-feminist. I feel zero excitement about our first female leader (Vice President elect). It isn’t because she’s a Democrat, and I was raised a Republican. I ask myself if Sarah Palin (or some other Republican female) had made it, would I feel differently, and the answer is no. Just a solid, unequivocal NO.
I never aspired to have a career or work outside my home. I was raised by an insecure, shy 1940’s-1950’s housewife who never wanted to work outside the home. My mother was there every day when I got up and there every day when I got home from school. She baked. She cleaned. She made a happy home warm and welcoming. She had a hot dinner on the table when Dad got home every night. She and Dad were married 41 years when he died. I always wanted what she had.
My reality was far different from hers. I’ve held full time employment since I was 19. I fell in love and married at 30. I’ve been married almost 31 years. I worked through two pregnancies and went back to work when my sons were both just six weeks old. Was I happy to go? No, I cried because I had to. I’ve been working for forty-two freaking LONG years.
I always blamed the feminist women for wanting to work for spoiling my dream of just being home. Burning their bras, protesting and carrying on. Intellectually, I knew that wasn’t true. I knew inflation and an increased cost of living necessitated my having to work full-time. And, no, we don’t live lavishly. We have a 1,000 square foot house built in the 1960’s. We drive used cars. We have debt just like most people.
I always felt that I was born at the wrong time. A job is just a paycheck for me. Never anything more. Do I like what I do? Most days. Would I walk away from it if I could? In a heartbeat.
I’m not a feminist. I have no daughters, and I’m glad. I would have made a terrible mother of daughter(s). I just don’t have it in me.
So was I devastated when RBG died? No. Am I excited that Harris is VP? No.
Sorry. I’m just not.
Image courtesy of Pinterest
Weird clouds in the sky on June 27 on one of our rare nights out for a ride/date. My Ford Edge with the bass clef sticker in the window.
I was uploading old photos a few nights later. We’ve changed a bit in 32 years together.
Here’s one of our first dates. An old photo booth at Seabreeze Amusement park in 1988.
Three years later at our niece’s wedding.
His Ford Escort GT and my Pontiac Firebird at our old apartment. I miss that car.
Christmas 1993, the first one in our house.
Must be true love.
I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather grow old with.
One of the things I’ve missed the most during this awful social distancing has been baked goods. Of course, I’ve made my own brownies, cinnamon rolls and muffins here at home, but I miss going to Wegmans to buy bakery-made cakes and donuts.
When the entire Covid thing blew up in all of our faces back in March, I obtained a doctor’s note. Because of my age and my asthma it was deemed safer for me to work from home for the foreseeable future.
Seven months later I am still here. Since my employer has over 200 employees, my younger and healthier coworkers have been divided into A and B groups, and they’ve gone back to work first. They work alternating weeks. Group A works in the office one week while Group B works from home. Group B works in the office the next week while Group A works from home. I’m in Group C. I’m strictly working from home every week for now, anyway.
In addition to avoiding the office, I’ve also avoided most other places where people and germs congregate. I’ve been taking advantage of the Instacart app, and people who work as shoppers do my grocery shopping for me. I then drive over to a designated pick up area where someone loads my car. It costs more, but it’s been kind-of nice.
While the shoppers have done a great job, there are lots of things that just aren’t the same. When I have a hankering for fresh cookies, I want the fancy, fresh baked ones that I package up in a bakery bag or box myself, not the ones that were packaged up who knows how long ago in a plastic container. When I want cake or pie, I like to pick out my own. I am fussy. I get the prettiest frosting or the best-looking one. The same goes for donuts. I was really missing donuts.
I never get quite what I want when someone else makes the choice for me. While I know I don’t NEED baked goodies, it’s nice to have them every so often.
After seven months of being pretty much housebound, I finally got out for a day trip on Friday. Wegmans is considered a higher end store. They started in Rochester, NY, but they now have several locations around the country. The stores have everything, including pizza, subs, a hot food area, a sit down cafe, and fancy restrooms. Their employees are meticulously cleaning everywhere. I felt safe going there. We stopped at two Wegmans’ locations while we were out, both for food and potty stops.
I finally got my fresh donuts, and the funny thing was they didn’t taste as good as I’d hoped they would. I was disappointed. Maybe it’s just been too long. Maybe I just had set my expectations too high. Maybe I had other things to think about.
Maybe seven months of sitting home has broken me of my donut 🍩 addiction. Maybe it was having to wear a mask while I walked through the store. With the asthma, I found it a bit difficult to breathe.
Maybe donuts just aren’t as necessary as I thought they were. How tragic.