The Art of the Wife

I just read this article in The New York Times. It was an OK article by a woman who is the "bread winner" in her family. She has a fantasy about being the typical 1950s housewife, blah, blah, blah. But the part I liked was the next to last paragraph (penultimate, you might say):

In the end, we all want a wife. But the home has become increasingly invaded by the ethos of work, work, work, with twin sets of external clocks imposed on a household’s natural rhythms. And in the transformation of men and women into domestic co-laborers, the Art of the Wife is fast disappearing.

I liked the phrase, "Art of the Wife". Is "Wife" an art? Do YOU wives consider yourself artists? Do you prefer working out of the home, or staying home and working?

Are there any men reading this? I doubt it, but if you are, what are you looking for in A WIFE? Would you prefer to have someone bringing in another salary, or a salary BIGGER than yours? Or would you like to have someone at home taking care of all that stuff?

Whatever. I have to go iron.

GaGa, Oh, La, La,

Is it weird that I want to buy Lady GaGa's CD? Actually, I'll probably call her GaGa. Lady just seems so formal - and I'm sure we'd be friends if we met. I have all her songs running through my head. Pretty much all the time.

That's probably not weird.

What is weird is that when I'm not thinking, "Roma-ah-ah-ah-ah..." I'm thinking about Dolly Parton. Specifically 9 to 5. I love that song. I love Dolly. I think she's great!

So, I'm going to have a little get together. And GaGa and Dolly will be there. And they'll write songs about how much they like ME. And I'll bake them brownies and then I'll help Dolly with her Imagination Library. Because I think literacy is important too!

"Hey, ya'll. Read a book!"

In Case You Didn't Know

THE HOLIDAYS are over.

So, now what do we do???

If you're me - apparently...you do nothing. Which is nice for a while. But not really. I'm tired of it already.

But I thought this picture was HILARIOUS! I was riding around Mom and Dad's neighborhood when we were home for Christmas and some of their neighbor's blow up decorations (which, in general, I kind of hate) were reflecting my mood.

They just seemed to scream - "I just can't take it anymore! Where is February? What a second - I hate February! Where is JUNE? That's a month that I like - it's not that far away is it??? I mean - six months goes pretty fast, right??? And if you think about it - it's really only five months."

So, I made Mom drive back to her place, get my camera and drive around the neighborhood again so I could take this picture. Tony didn't want to come along. So we took the dogs.

This is Daisy. I love Daisy and someday I am going to steal her and sneak her off to NYC. You can see Dora's ear in the bottom left corner, but she doesn't like to have her picture taken.

I love Dora too - but I don't want to steal her.

And a couple of pictures of Hastings because he reads this blog regularly and I don't want his feelings to be hurt. You know how touchy cats are. I love him the best.
Yes, he's in a crib. At my mom's house. He loved it in there. Someday we'll have a baby and you can have a crib at your own house, Kitty. I promise.

And this picture too. It's old and it's not very good, but it looks like he's smiling. And who doesn't love a Cat Smile?

It will help pass the time until February. JUNE!!! I meant June.

The Thing I Want Now

I have decided that I want brandy snifters.

I've been reading a lot (A LOT) of mystery novels recently. And when the cops come (in England) to question you, you offer them brandy. You also give it to someone when they are cold or in shock. I am both. So I want brandy.

Mostly, I want to hold a great big glass with amber liquid in it. I have no idea what brandy tastes like. If I don't like it - I will make a giant margarita on the rocks with salt. In my new brandy snifter. It will be awesome. I will drink it all and be warm.

And then, I will slowly come out of my shock induced stupor and say something brilliant and the Cheif Inspector will tell me that I helped him solve the mystery and that he loves me and would I please marry him and move into his beautiful estate that has been in his family for 600 years.

And I will say yes.

As long as I can bring my snifters.

But he probably has nicer ones. Because he's rich.

We'll just use his.