…I am so geeking out right now.
Moran poses the question of why women over-extend themselves in ways that men do not. We’re worrying over chores, errands, self-improvement crusades, planning our lives to the half hour, while the guys come home from work and relax on the couch, happy to leave the dishes in the sink.
I think she may have a point.
Take today for instance:
My Sunday so far:
– Wake up at 8:30am. Grill parsnips for breakfast and make coffee (from the bean, freshly ground with a hand-cranked grinder – très old skool!)
– Construct a Food Matrix – includes a food inventory incorporated into a meal plan for the week, which produces a grocery list.
– Bleach the bathroom.
– Pause for a quick tea while bleach disinfects. Resume cleaning.
– Do stretches while feeling pings of guilt for skipping yoga class.
– Meet Sal for grocery shopping (with list derived from the Food Matrix).
– Back to the flat, bake bread from scratch ‘to relax’.
– Eat bread with a cup of tea while writing blog.
Sal’s Sunday so far:
– Wake up at 9:30 or so.
– Eat breakfast and drink coffee.
– Next several hours spent on the couch, in front of the laptop.
– On a whim, go to the gym for a good workout.
– Meet wife at the store and carry the groceries home. Wash some dishes.
– Eat freshly baked bread on the couch, in front of the laptop.
It’s not like Sal doesn’t do chores or plan things. He does. But the difference between us is the level of frenzy associated with the chores and planning.
The argument we chicks always use is, “if I waited around for him to do it, it would never get done!” Maybe. Or maybe it would just take a lot longer.
I’m just not willing to wait for delicious baked bread to be made for me. I tell myself that baking bread is something I enjoy doing, and besides which, it’s from a recipe given to me by a strong feminist, who also likes baking.
Feminist Bread. This is what I will name the bread. This makes me feel better.
Oh, my, look at the time! Got to get that chicken in the oven…
Look, just once, ok? Just once I’d like to have tea with John Maynard Keynes. Is that so much to ask? I’ll make the tea, I’ll bring scones and clotted cream. I just want to hang out, have a few laughs, talk about the weather, you know.
I spent the weekend reading a biography about economic magicians of the past, basking in their cerebral glory, and it made me a little sad. And a bit wistful.
Where are the great philosophers? Where did they go? Why is my time on this planet not chock full of renaissance people and beautiful prose on monetary policy? Why does the universe produce greatness in spurts?
We could use a little greatness right now. I ain’t saying Keynes or Hayek could get us out of this wacky financial tangle we’ve woven. It’s not their place anyway; it’s our mess, we ought to clean it up. But I sure would like to have their two cents. (Tuppence?)
Sigh. There’s nothing more pitiful than a melancholy nerd.