The Domesticated Wife

Yesterday, since Cleveland was being hammered with snow again (like it's something new!), and the Hubby had a doctor's appointment that I had to tag along to, I decided to declare it my holiday and take the day off. I figured it would also be the perfect time to show him that I'm not just a sweet, smart and pretty wife (hey, this is my blog, I can say anything I want!), but a domestic one as well. I wanted him to think he  married the perfect woman -  moodiness and crankiness aside. You know... in exchange, for being an awesome husband and sending me a beautiful bouquet of flowers at my work!

So right after I woke up, I decided to clean the entire house. I took out the vacuum cleaner, the mop, and all the cleaning supplies. Halfway through vacuuming however, the darn machine decided to break down. With almost two-thirds of the house done, I opted to just move to the next task. Who peeks in corners and under the beds, anyway?

Next... cook a lovely dinner. There I was, sauteing chicken while uninhibitedly dancing to Rihanna's music, when my cellphone rang. It was a friend I invited to our upcoming vow renewal ceremony. And as we were getting carried away talking about the wedding plans, I realized.... wait a minute, I was cooking something! Well, I don't have to tell you how that lovely dinner turned out.

Finally, I decided to just wash the dishes from the other night. Because... that's just how domesticated I am. Just as I'm sure you had predicted, one of the drinking glasses broke, and cut my tiny finger! Blood started oozing out. Lots of it! Now, I have an aversion to blood and faint at the sight of too much of it, so this, naturally, triggered a big panic. But you'd be proud of me. Really proud. Because I bravely took out a gauze, and dressed my own wound! And did it with alternate closing of each eye! Everything went smoothly, until I realized I still have to take a shower so I can go to the doctor. I ran out of those vinyl gloves at home, so you can just imagine the pain I went through washing my hair with one hand.

In the end, I was just so glad that I have a husband who prepares his own lunch, washes his own clothes, clean the house and loves me for who I am. Domesticated or not.

My wonderful girlfriends, are you a domestic woman? And does your significant other care if you are? And for men, is being domesticated one of your criteria in choosing the woman to marry?