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Posted by Mummy Dearest on Jan-27-2005

This evening, hanging over the remains of our Jachtschotel ( doesn’t that sound fancy ? Now, lean very closely and I shall whisper in your ear : it’s a casserole. You can’t fool me, that’s what it is. It’s made with mashed potatoes, onions, apples and left over meat. But wait ! We never have any left over meat, so first, I have to make meat to be left over), The Father and I caught up with our week. Sometimes life is like that. In fact, yesterday, he gave me his travel schedule for the next few months. After he had finished, I said ‘So, basically, you are home for dinner tomorrow and will be back before we go to Portugal ?’ A brief moment of panic crossed his face, he quickly asked me when that was. First week of May. Yep, he can make it.

So, he’s telling me all about the new company, this that and the other thing and before I know it, his stare is stabbing into my eyes as he says ‘You know, it’s a simple job. You could do it, but you don’t want to. ‘ I do believe that I was supposed to feel guilty or lazy, or perhaps both. But I didn’t, I don’t.

I don’t want to work full time, out of the house. We are lucky enough that we don’t need the money ( sure, we would enjoy it, but need it ? Nope.) In fact, the only reason I work at all is because The Father is totally convinced that it is good for me, something to keep me from feeling like Rosie, that robot in The Jetsons, even though I have told him, time and time again, that the only thing that I wanted to be when I grew up was the recipient of a trust fund.

Oh, there was a time when I had to work. Grave miscalculations on the part of our bookkeeper found us living in a house that we could not afford and so I saddled up my bike and earned a paycheck. I worked for 7 years, until The Boy was born. And then realized that The Father and I were burning out at both ends and that I didn’t have enough time in a day to teach The Boy English.

The tempo was murderous, I don’t know how people can keep it up, year after year. Especially now that the children are older and seem to need even more time, of a different sort.

I’ll just take my box of bon- bons, thank you, and the life of leisure.

I have never felt compelled to prove anything.

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