If you’re tired, crying, sulking….you must be liberated

Dear Ms. Steinem,

I want to personally thank you for spear heading the movement and for your dedication to improving womens’ lives.

The day I ripped my bra off in solidarity of the women’s liberation movement and the chance for more equal opportunities for women, I got caught up in the excitement of the moment. It all made so much sense.

I’m writing you today to tell you that I am putting my bra back on — not only because I have to because after nursing five kids and my boobs are screaming for support, but also as a statement.

Liberation isn’t working for me.

That’s right, I no longer wish to be liberated. In fact, at this point I would prefer to be caged! I simply cannot work forty hours, take the kids to nursery school, do the grocery shopping, take out the garbage, pick the kids up from nursery school, run the older kids to soccer, football and tennis, and make it to PTA and the mother-in- law’s birthday party.

I can no longer wash the same load of laundry three times because I left it in the washer again. I don’t remember June Cleaver doing any of these things when I watched Leave It to Beaver.

I’ll admit there are many aspects of that time period I find very appealing. For instance, June wore an apron. It appeared to be ironed, and there was never a single stain on it. Clearly she had time to do the wash, smiled while folding it, and even put it all away. The woman was a goddess! Her laundry room was spotless, and her kitchen counters sparkled. Perhaps she was heavily medicated? Who can be sure?

The woman hummed while putting pot roast in the oven. Her potatoes were hand mashed! I don’t remember one episode without Beaver, Wally and even Ward complimenting her cooking.

Did you ever see her with a vacuum cleaner? It was like watching an episode of Dancing With the Stars; so fluid in her movement and again with the smiling. She would glide across the carpet with such poise and grace. Seriously, who does that? I keep my vacuum by the door with a bottle of water. I someone comes to the door, I spritz my face so I look like I’ve been sweating from vacuuming.

Her hair was always done, and her make-up immaculately applied. June obviously had time to focus on June, and I wouldn’t be surprised to learn she took beauty naps daily. I’m sure you catch my drift.

Gloria, can I call you Gloria? If there’s an apron in my house, it’s in the garage under a pile of dry dog food. My laundry room has a shabby-not-so-chic feel, and smells like old feet. Instead of smiling while doing laundry, I prefer to grunt and curse.

Our family dinners could easily be confused with a busy train station, with all the people coming and going, and I’m more likely to hear, “Oh no! Not chicken again?” than any compliments from my lovely children.

My house is a mess, and I’m tired.

I think my life could have been richer without all the equality seeking.  I would prefer a slower kind of life with fewer things. I just want to waltz with my vacuum, and I’d like to have the opportunity to concentrate on just one thing.

I want to be a June Cleaver, Ms. Steinem.

I want to meet up with my lady neighbors for coffee to discuss how wonderful our husbands are. I want a freshly ironed dress with matching heels, and I want to appear composed and serene. It would be a pleasure to wear a stain free apron and smile while making dinner. I want simple and uncomplicated life. Equality is over rated. I want my husband to bring home the bacon, fry it up in a pan and I’ll never let him forget he’s the man. June would sing this, but I strained my vocal chords screaming at kids. Hey, I’m not perfect.

Now I’m going to go buy new aprons. Let’s have coffee real soon.

 

Regards,

 

Anne Bardsley