A Stepford Wife Checks In

Let’s take yesterday as an example. You know that Walgreen’s commercial about the fictional town called “Perfect”? Well, yesterday was a “perfect” day. I was productive at work. I worked out (walked, elliptical, and weights) and ate no more than 1300 calories. I flossed my teeth and washed my face with real face cleanser stuff. I unloaded and re-loaded my dishwasher. I read to my son. You see? Perfect!

Unfortunately, I felt like some weird Stepford wife had inhabited my body. Isn’t Sylvia Plath more interesting than June Cleaver? Where’s the drama, the edge to a day like yesterday? Come on, is that boring chick really me? Isn’t getting a little soused & eating a pint of Ben & Jerry’s more fun??? I don’t think I’m hooked on the food – I think I’m hooked on that stupid platitude “Only boring women have clean houses.” What is wrong with a clean house? What’s wrong with routine? Why can’t June have as much fun as Sylvia? Why can’t I be a content woman somewhere between the extremes?