I got up at six this morning to finish some homework. Instead, I got sucked into taking care of all the little things that pile up—job applications (you know, rent!); random catch-up from the university; paperwork—all necessary tasks, but somehow not as fulfilling as getting ahead (or caught up) on the school work.
And as I drank my coffee*, I got more than a little frustrated with all of these stupid little jobs that are keeping me from doing the important stuff. Keeping me from thinking great thoughts, from being fabulous.
So I looked up Judy Brady’s essay “Why I want a wife.” Do you know this essay? You should. Go. Read. Link’s above.
It was in the first issue of Ms., and sarcastically—but arguably truthfully—enumerates all of the reasons she would like a wife. This isn’t about marriage equality, it’s about having someone to take care of all the unimportant details so you can get on with doing the important stuff. The intelligent stuff. The stuff that makes your reputation.
The stuff that most of us squeeze in, if we’re lucky, between trips to the grocery and dog baths.
And god, I’m lucky. A few decades ago I’d have been playing wife and cocktail hostess to a suited superior. Instead, I get to wake up really early, that’s true, but I also get to go to class and talk about books. And write. And think fabulous thoughts. And plan and dream about a career in an area that I love. And yes, if I stood on someone’s back to get here—if someone else had taken care of all the stupid jobs I did this morning—it might be a little easier. But it’s easier for me than it was for Judy Brady, whatever her situation might have been.
And that little bit of perspective is making me absolutely and ecstatically happy this morning.
(Neither this post, nor Judy Brady’s article, are condemning the institution of marriage—that’s a conversation for another day, and one that, honestly, I don’t find all that compelling. Rather, she’s examining the disparity of privilege that exist[ed?] in traditional marriage—and I’m just being happy that all of those fabulous feminists before me made my life possible.)
*I failed to mention that the coffee was prepped by my amazing, considerate boyfriend. So maybe we wife each other? Or maybe there needs to be another term for that.