Old Maid Prospects2:00 AM
Second confession: it’s not what you think. Let me calm and clarify.
If you had the mixed pleasure of talking to me in the past several years or so, you knew homemaking was not My Thing. I swept. I sewed. I strained spaghetti. Duty called—and then I escaped to my books. I’m renouncing that too. There are strange thoughts stirring up inside me—strange because I’m only seventeen, strange because I had sworn to myself so many years ago that “this” wasn’t My Thing.
I want to be a homemaker—a homemaker without the “in training” tacked on. It isn’t merely a passing fancy; actually, it’s getting quite annoying. I now like hanging laundry on the line. I walk into a house and then mentally and involuntarily rearrange the entire living room. I listen in to the veteran homemakers despite the catcalls of how boring and un-fun I’ve become. I’ve created a long, long list of do’s and don’t’s re: childrearing.
Since I have one more year of high school and, at present, years of spinsterhood looming ahead, it’s not really something to trumpet from the rooftops. I want my own home: but I cannot have one. And so the term “homemaker-in-training” grates on my nerves. How long do I remain unaccomplished? Who gets to decide when I finish the course, earn the degree, take off the “in training” officially?
I don’t mind the thought of being an old maid for eternity, believe it or not. I have plenty of talent and dreams up my sleeve. But there’s no fun in being “in training” for something eternally and inconsummatingly. Am I doomed to be a second-class homemaker until I take a new surname? Until I turn thirty-one with no prospects on the line? When do I—can I—stop training and actually start homemaking?
Read more at Raising Homemakers today. Come along?