When the drudgery of daily life gets me down, I often fantasize about having a wife. This is not a new concept – there’s been a lot written about working women needing a wife:
Working Women’s Wife Envy (Salon.com)
What a Working Woman Needs: A Wife (New York Times)
Wedded to Work, and in Dire Need of a Wife (New York Times)
Many Working Women Want a Wife (Boston Globe)
Every Woman Needs a Wife (Mommy with a Masters)
In my fantasy wife-having life, a plate of hot food is placed in front of me at least once a day and I never have to contemplate how that came to pass. In this parallel universe, I never look at the incoming mail and never give a thought to our bills and finances. I just assume that it’s all taken care of. I do not bother with which day show & tell is in first grade or when field trip permission slips are due back or when the daycare needs more diapers.
In the world where my wife exists, I open my closet door and always find it full of clean clothes, as if by magic.
No pediatrician appointments to schedule. In fact, no more time management of the family calendar at all. No more trips to the dry cleaner. No more picking up toys. No more meal planning. I would never have to care whether we are running out of shampoo or toilet paper.
I would still be glad to help with all of these things if asked, but ultimately, none of it is actually my responsibility. The minutiae of our lives would be someone else’s problem. I’m not the cruise director of this ship any longer. Just imagine how much energy I would be able to refocus with my wife doing his or her thing?
I have to imagine it quick before the oven timer goes off and the dinner-bath-bedtime sprint begins. But my non-existent wife brings a smile to my exhausted face.