Nope. Not a housewife. Decided last night abruptly after watching a video that inspired the living daylights out of me.
The sensation has been brewing, first as question then as a possibility, and most recently as a statement. I’ve found myself trying on the title, like it’s a pageant sash, throwing it into conversation and measuring both my reaction and the response from others.
Some people nod and say nothing, almost validating that I am indeed a housewife. Others look at me funny, lean their heads to say, “Huh? Stella, I would never call you a housewife. You’re a professional and you are great a what you do.”
“But what do I do?” is always my question.
“You’re a star, a celebrity, you’ve had a TV show, you are fabulous” is always the response.
“Well, fabulous doesn’t feel like a serious career.”
The inspiration last night came from an unlikely source, but regardless the timing was perfect. I’ve been praying for God to lead me into my calling and help me find peace with it.
The big realization that hit yesterday was that I need to put my ass where my heart wants to be… or better put… I need to stop being an amateur star working only when I feel like it. I need to be a professional star, consistently working because it’s what I do and stop getting caught up in the day-to-day minutia of housewifery. Let the small things go and focus on my career like it’s a 9-5 job.
“What’s for dinner?” My husband asked later in the evening. It had been a busy afternoon filled with doctor’s appointments and my son’s after school activities. I swung by a chicken finger fast-food joint and grabbed us a togo meal to share, me and him. That was my dinner, but I had nothing special for my husband when he got back from martial arts class around 8:30pm.
I’d been busy all day, actually working on my art, doing my job, that I let dinner go. There was plenty in the fridge, I thought, and my concerns moved on, but my husband didn’t take the lack of a hot meal as flippant as I.
“Oh, I didn’t cook. There’s some spaghetti you can heat up from yesterday,” I said then drew my eyes back to my book. I was curled up on the coach in my white robe, nibbling on some dark chocolate and nursing a cup of hot tea.
“No dinner? You’re like the government, Stella! You get me all reliant on you, then you shut down.”
You have to admit that was hilarious. I laughed and laughed, but he didn’t think it was funny.
“Seriously, Stella, baby, you’ve been cooking terrific food for the last six months. Just look at me. I’m sexy as hell.”
“Yeah, and I haven’t been acting like the professional that I am since then either,” I took a sip of the tea. “Besides, I’m not going to stop cooking, sweetheart, I just didn’t tonight. All is well.” I looked back at my book thinking the conversation was over.
My husband tossed pans around in the kitchen making noise as he clanked one pot on the stove top and another into the oven. His metal music was followed by a low grunt “where’s the cheese?” and then “we need more bread.”
“Cheese is in the fridge, in the middle part. I’ll put bread on the list.” I didn’t even look up to see his pathetic self.
After a few moments, “But really Stella, I’m not used to this. You always have dinner. If you don’t cook, I eat crappy food like Oreos and Chex mix. You don’t want that, do you?”
Wow, he’s a spoiled brat, folks. One freaking evening without dinner prepared for him and you’d think he lost his boat.What can I do with this man?
“It’s one night, babe, really? You’re acting a fool and making a big deal out of it. You can make yourself a sandwich. There’s plenty of turkey.”
“Speaking of that, you didn’t make me a sandwich for lunch today either. All I got was your smoothie.” The pouting was getting worse.
“I was busy filming. You should be grateful I made the smoothie.” I put my book down. The whining was getting under my skin, and I knew my husband’s tactic was to make a big deal out of a one day shift so as to make sure it doesn’t get worse. It just might get worse before it gets better. I just might stop cooking altogether.
Just then, I left the room. I realized I had created a monster who likes me to be a professional star in theory. Hell, it’s who he married. But as time wears on and love deepens between two people, roles shift and expectations grow. How did this happen? I want to be amazing at everything.
“Stella, I was just kidding. You know that, babe. I’m happy to see you doing your thing,” he yelled down the hallway.
Although the tones are lighthearted and almost funny like we’re picking on each other, there’s an underlying truth that’s ultimately bothering me. It’s the honesty in the sarcasm.
It’s the rift us woman live with. We’re expected to be everything for everyone and can wake up one day realizing we’ve become a pro at helping other’s with their dreams while dropping ours down to amateur levels.
I nestled in bed as my husband showered telling me stories from his evening through the part in the shower curtain. Every time I responded, he’d say, “What, Stella? I can’t hear you over the water.” And then he’d continue on with his story. The one-way conversation annoyed me too. I eventually stopped listening.
“You can’t go to sleep, baby,” my husband said a few moments later jumping next to me in bed. His hair was a little wet, but his expression was jovial and spirited. My husband was excited and full of energy. He’s lost weight, he’s getting better at martial arts, the RV Resort permits are ready, if only his wife would have a dripping wet pussy for him…
“I’m tired, sweetie.”
“But I need you.”
“You had your two pump chump meal this morning. I did my deed for the day.”
“Yeah, but that was desperation,” he said. “My dick was full of cum. It was like up to here.” My husband had his hand on his dick and pointed to the area right below the head while making a funny facial expression. He looked like a fish with his lips pursed and his jaw lifted up, but he was mimicking his cocked and ready cum like they hit a wall before release. “They were like ooop.”
He froze there and I laughed and laughed. He repeated the joke and laughed again. Like earlier, he said it wasn’t funny, but with a gigantic smile on his face. I laughed another hearty laugh tearing up and we kissed like lovers. I adore this man and how well he communicates his feelings even if I don’t always like what he has to say.
He wants it all, as do I. He wants me to have my dreams and still take care of my responsibilities. If I’m honest with myself, I feel the same way about him. As long as he, me, and we stayed the same, we’d been happy with any change.