Middle School House Wife

Sometimes I want the world to storm and the ground to rupture. Instead, it’s sunny outside with light rain. There’s a saying over here that when it rains with the sun out, the devil is beating his wife. I don’t know if I believe it or not. Personally, I don’t think anyone would want to marry the devil. He’s probably beating someone else.

That being said, they didn’t cancel the football game for tonight. Unfortunately, it means that my white cheer shoes are going to transform into this murky brown color. It’s not unfortunate for me though. I’d do anything to avoid having my mom force me into high school cheer next year.

Honestly, I just want to stay home. I don’t want to do anything special with my life. To me, the idea of being a house wife with an unused bachelor’s degree sounds like music to my ears. All I’d have to do is marry rich, hire a maid, and bake some cookies every now and then. I’ll tell my husband that I’m allergic to kids so that we won’t have to get any, and then we can spend their theoretical college tuition on luxurious vacations or as many tubs of cookie dough as we please.

Therefore, I’m going to ruin my shoes as much as possible. I’ll cheer as much as I can while looking happy about it before I “accidentally” slip in the mud of our run down field. Hopefully, Cole’s leg is still broken. That means he’ll be on the same side of the field as me, but on the bench rather than on the field. I wouldn’t want my future cookie dough provider to see me make a mess of myself.

Of course, true love is blind and all that other trash people say, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t want to look good in front of the man I’m meant to marry. Just because he’s seen me in diapers doesn’t mean I’m going to roll out of bed and not put on any makeup before leaving the house. He could pop up anywhere, so I must be ready whenever the opportunity for me to talk to him  presents itself.

Unfortunately for me, that opportunity does not come often, especially since after my mother told me that the doctor told her that I needed braces. That was the day I decided I was going to hate my mother. It was the day before the spring formal that she decided to take me dress shopping and to the orthodontist. I was in so much pain and embarrassment because of her. It’s her fault that I was the first girl in the sixth grade to get braces at my school. It’s because of her that Cole stopped talking to me as much as he used to.

Two years later, I’m still stuck in the same spot. Braces, cheer, and no Cole. I haven’t given up hope yet. I believe that his broken leg is a sign. It means that he is meant to end his football career in middle school and begin following a noble pursuit, such as medicine or law. That way, he will be able to provide for the both of us. Vacations, cookie dough, and all.

 

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2 Comments

  1. I've been returning every day since you posted the last post. Bugger. You really are hanging up your web thingy. Truth is, you did something here better and more valuable than the work that was dieucsssd, praised, slagged off and more – you created real, honest to goodness debate. For once we venal agency people looked at something, daily, that wasn't our own fluff and bullshit filled navels – and you did that. So, I'd just like to say – brilliant and thank you.

    1. Hello. I appreciate your words. It has been a rough year, but I fully intend to return to writing. I don’t want to hang this up at all. I promise I’ll be back.

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