I was 23, when I married, and my husband was 30 and everyone thought I was nuts to marry so young. It was incredibly short-sighted, impulsive, and largely driven by the contradictory, but underated combination of extreme piety and a raging libido.
And, to be honest, my eagerness to do whatever This Viking says, as that seemed like a good plan. The plan would be whatever he said it would be and I was just glad to be along for the ride. I couldn't believe my good fortune. I was in a state of shock.
Do you want to be a homemaker or a career woman? 🧐
Oh, definitely a career woman!👩🏻🎓
A homemaker would be better, tho. 🏡 For my wife. 🤨
Oh, right you are! I hadn't even realized how much I like homemaking! 🤩
I should have gone to college and studied to get my Smart Papers. Become an astronaut or a ballerina or a Girl Boss. Traveled to India to fornicate with a guru and get digestive problems from too-spicy curry, while writing snarky articles about _Where Have All the Good Men Gone_ and _Why Women Are Inherently Superior To Men_ and _This Season's Vibrators Can Bring You To Orgasm So Quickly That You Can Be Done Waiting For The Light To Turn Red At That Slow Intersection_ and _Why 60 Is The New 30_. That would have been the sensible thing.
I've never had much sense, which is probably why I am perpetually optimistic and happy, and why I feel such a sense of agency. All of the sensible people seem to end up a bit miserable.
And it really is fun being a homemaker. He was right.
