A Quarter Life Crisis

If I come back in a future life I want to be remade into a housewife! At the present it wouldn't suit my sensibilities and I'd probably be bored out of my mind, but it seems like a hella cool existence. Not to slight the housewives of the world(generalizations and stereotypes will follow) but seriously with kids at school for most of the day there is but so much floor you can wax. Yes I know there's more than cleaning house to being a woman of the home but honestly what do you really do all day long? Insert use your cougar-esque ways to seduce and sleep with resident pool boys, neighbors college age sons and random hotter than the stove rare book dealers (see above photo for inspiration).

Maybe I am assuming and we know where that gets one but seriously the cougar is the new it girl. No more ditzy pre-pubescent girls in short shorts and tube tops we now have a soccer mom driving a Suburban (the new station wagon) with home-made chocolate chip cookies in tote. And how am I supposed to compete with that because you know the hunt for a husband is truly an all out blood sport. Young men with over active libidos want food and sex. Middle aged house wives are tantamount to sex oozing brownies. And when you think about it, who doesn't like brownies? But really that's not the point.

Obviously I've gotten this quarter life crisis all backwards. I should celebrate the years as they flip by on the calendar until the point when I can Eva Longoria some unassuming gardener with homemade apple pie in hand. Ah the ever glamorous life of a housewife. OK sure I will have to do laundry (the absolute bane of my existence) and cook dinner but if I can work in corporate America organizing my schedule down to the bathroom breaks I can definitely figure out how to finangle an extra marital affair in between mopping floor and making beds.

Of course this could all be nothing but a hollywood fairytale? (Me thinks not...ok hopes not.) Maybe housewives actually do more than twiddle their fingers during those six to eight hours when no one is around. I wouldn't know. My point of reference doesn't include housewifery only because I've actually never known one in person. Disgruntal working mothers who longed for the freedom of tending the home, those I have some history with and believe me fabulocity I think not.

Oh lovely glorious lords of reincarnation when I finally kick it, can you please insert me into the abs of steel (cause some of that finger twiddling is put on hold to exercise) body of a cougar.