Being a 22 year old housewife

I'm sure we've covered this before, but let's get it right out in the open: I'm 21 years old. Wise beyond my years, whatever, I've still lived on this planet for barely over two decades.

About two weeks ago, I decided to adopt the phrase "pushing 22". I use it every time I get a chance. For example, I went to a gay bar with my dad last week. Let me say that I qualify this as a gay bar for a few reasons: my dad is gay, it was his idea to go, and that's all well and good. What defines this as a gay bar, and what makes it important to note that it was different than any other bar, is the fact that it was line dancing night. Myself, my father's straight female roommate, and a couple of two-stepping lesbians made up the entire female population in what had to be the largest congregation of homosexual men over 40 in southwest Ohio. (The lesbians were unbelievably impressive at the two-step, by the way, as are my father's other roommates.)

So, the next day, someone who saw my dad at the bar questioned why he was flanked by the two straight chicks all night. He explained that the short redhead was his roommate, and the other cute redhead was his daughter. As my father really doesn't look all of his fifty years, this person was was pretty taken aback. When he told me this story later, I was all too happy to chime in and remind him that he was fifty, and I am, after all, "pushing 22".

I had to make the decision between "almost" and "pushing". It was an easy choice. The fact is that I don't want to be 22. If I had it my way, I'd probably stay 21 forever and ever. Of course, I don't get to make that choice, and so I went with "pushing". Pushing implies resistance. Almost is the over-13-years-old version of saying "I'm eight and three quarters".

My mother related a story to me the other day that puts getting older into perspective. Her roommate has a daughter who recently (four months ago) turned eight. She professes to have a birthday coming up - which, I suppose, is always true. Who's to say that eight months can't be "coming up"? And since her ninth birthday is coming up, that means she's almost 10.

Argue with an eight year old who can't wait to grow up. Let me know how it ends for you.

I, on the other hand, am pushing. Always pushing. I don't think 22 is old. My husband is 25. (Pushing 26 if you ask me, but he doesn't like that.) Most of my friends have already turned 26. My father is 50 and I just told him the other day that I wish he realized just how young he is. I really don't think 22 is old.

For everyone else.

But me? 22 is almost 23, and 23 is when I graduate. Then I'm 25 and I don't know what to do with my life. And at some point, I'm probably going to have to be a grown-up. I got married at 21, but I assure you, it wasn't out of any desire to grow up faster. I really don't want anything to do with it.

Sometimes I joke about being a housewife, but it really isn't true. I'm really great at cooking, and I love decorating, but that is where it stops. I had the foresight to marry a man who loves to clean. He doesn't mind doing laundry, he's happy to do dishes if I cook dinner... These were good choices. But someday I fear that's all going to come crashing down on me, and I'll have to be a real wife.

Today, I need to do laundry. Good lord, I have let the laundry pile up to an almost unmentionable degree. I have one remaining shirt left. One. So, I braved the rain and went out to get quarters. When I came home, someone was already using the washer. I'd like to pretend I was irritated, but my heart lept with joy a little bit. It's not that I'm lazy. I just really, really hate doing laundry.

John's started the spring cleaning, and he wants me to be a part of it. In my best attempt to look like I want to be a part of it, I decided to get my desk in order. I brought my old 19" monitor out of the closet and set it up, so I'm now running dual monitors. Nerds everywhere are probably proud. I suppose I like it, but since I've mostly checked my email and started writing this since I set them up, I can't say I'm utilizing the space. I'm sure my time will come.

22 is on its way, my friends, and will arrive for me next Wednesday. In the meantime, I'll be out enjoying my last few days of being young by doing approximately 39 loads of laundry.