The Housewife Lifestyle

Yesterday I realized something. I realized that I am not cut out for the housewife lifestyle. It started that morning, as I past the third streetlight and wondering what was on the grocery list that I left on the counter. I wasn’t in a rush, you see, I just literally forgot to grab it.

“String cheese, milk and eggs. What the fuck else?”

Inside the store, I was caught behind three teenage girls, their stomachs showing, wearing snapbacks and shuffling their feet. Every time I tried to move past them, they would stop and look at some stupid freaking thing that they wanted and had to pay for with daddy’s money. Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle, stop, gawk and then text. “Oh my gosh, Jessica, Brady just asked to hang out.”

It was at this point that I wanted to say, “Move any slower for Gods sake.” What I REALLY wanted to do was pull them aside and smack some sense into them but I was afraid they would yell back at me with some Justin Bieber lyrics. “These your best friends, Jessica? Say bye to them when high school ends. Once graduation is done they are on the first trains outta here. You have a boyfriend? Say bye to him as well."

“But we’re going to college together.”

“Oh, please. Name me one relationship that lasted throughout college.Jessica listen to me you only have one friend in high school and that’s Jesus.”

 I soon lost them in the toy section where they wondered which Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle they were.

I got home, forgetting about half of the list, and put the oven on. I was told to bake the chicken, to put some spices on it and let it sit in there for about thirty minutes. I let it sit in there for over an hour. It was only when I smelled the smoke that I remembered and it was only when the fire alarm started that I knew I fucked up.

I ran into the kitchen, opening up the oven door and a gust of fucking heat came out and steamed my glasses rendering me blind for ten seconds. “Shit!” I grabbed a potholder, something, and it fucking dropped in the chicken! I swatted at it, trying to grab it, hoping the firemen don’t show up and ask what happened.

"Oh, its okay Mr. Fireman, I'm just trying to bake some fucking chicken."

I finally grabbed the chicken, burning my poor little finger in the process, and started to run water over it WHEN THE FREAKING FAUCET BROKE OFF. “Are you kidding me!” I yelled.

I spent the rest of the day on my ass, watching Netflix. I figured that would be safest place….for everyone.

But, on a side note, my mom said she liked my burned chicken and asked what I did to it.

Joe Russo, writer, blogger, burn victim, and chef.