I Don't Do That, So Don't Ask

When I was in NYC last year, I saw the most amazing show. It was set in a circus tent and had the feeling of  an R rated masquerade. Women folded up in carry on luggage, roller skating lovers with leather harnesses and half nude men running around everywhere. Afterwards, I spotted this shirt which was roughly the cost of a nice dinner and I carefully weighed my need to eat with my need to have this in my wardrobe. I couldn't pass up the chance to be seen in Utah sporting this little number, so I slapped down my wad of cash and made it mine. I haven't regretted it for one minute. Back home, I was getting my fix at Starbucks when some  guy walked up to me giggling. "Where did you get that awesome shirt?". I told him it was from the east coast and he seemed forlorn that he couldn't have one of his own. When I spotted his wife, I wondered what would be the point of her announcing her trophy wife status. I think everyone was well aware. I don't fit the label, which is what makes it all the funnier. I usually pair this top with some old yoga pants, cheap flip flops and bed head. I would sooner pass for very single college student than a pampered, suburban housewife.  That brings us to the theme for our post today, which is a dreary list of all the things I won't do as a wife, let alone a trophy wife. When I get too old to wear short sleeves, I can sell this little treat on eBay and brighten the life of another newly married soul who has no fucking clue what she has gotten herself into.

As a newlywed, there wasn't anything I wouldn't do for my husband. I ironed his clothes daily and said yes to every request he threw my way. I wanted to prove how great I was so there would be no reason for him to find better model. I gave him blow jobs frequently and revised his college papers, all while making food to fit the picky eating regimen his mother had established years earlier. There was no end to my giving and it became clear early on that there was only person who expected me to be the perfect wife. Me. I wasn't refilling my proverbial bucket which left me tired, bitter, and wondering why my mom had endured this bullshit for two decades. When we added another mouth to the mix, life became even more complicated. I now had two people to impress and one of them didn't sleep for longer than two hours at a time. It took all my strength to pull out the ironing board while my nipples were falling off from nursing, all the while pretending to be overjoyed as a new mother. I was miserable. It took a few years and hundreds of dollars worth of therapy for me to acknowledge the belief that was creating my misery. I was sacrificing me so that no one would leave. Again.

Things changed real quick. I stopped ironing because it was clearly easier to throw that button down in the dryer with a  wet towel while I drank my coffee and watched my two year old run naked through the kitchen. It made me happy and the other people in my life seemed just as satisfied with the outcome. I started making food that we all enjoyed and some nights even meals that only I liked, because the option for a bowl of cereal was always there. We stopped fighting and blow jobs started to become a treat instead of an expectation. I don't make beds because it seems pointless and I have no interest in pulling apart hospital corners after fifteen hours of chasing small humans. I gave up deep cleaning the tub and instead grab a Clorox wipe to sop up last weeks pooping incident before I toss the kids in. I don't get up early because any moment before 8 am is still the middle of the night in my book. If my kids are up before that, they are capable of getting cereal and chilling on the couch until mom rolls out of bed. I finally learned that making me happy is just as important as making others happy.  It makes pretending to be a trophy wife a hell of a lot easier for everyone involved.