The time at the tone will be 6:22. And counting.
By anna_annais
- 213 reads
The time at the tone will be 6:22. And counting.
I could have had a rich husband and
spent my days shopping and
stopping at the neighbours to gossip
about this and that,
all the usual chit-chat, but
I chose a career.
Now I have meetings about meetings and
papers stacked miles high
in piles marked 'out' which,
to be perfectly honest,
is where I would often rather be
instead of pursuing a career.
I fantasise about having lunch hours and,
Instead, dine out on stress
as the leggy new MBA eyes the title on my door and
looks the Director's way as
I undo a button on my dress.
But, hey, I have my career.
Would I could go home at close of play
(whenever that might be)
to find the the house clean and
dinner waiting and my slippers by the TV.
But no. Last night's dishes are waiting,
Abandoned. Not like my career.
Him indoors is in the pub and
my son has left a trail
of socks, shirts and sundry bits and
a post-it note -- 'Be home late'.
As if I didn't have enough already on my plate
because I wanted a career.
I should think it's obvious that
what I desperately need
to cope and keep my fragile sanity
is not more money, time or a new man in my life.
It's none of that -- it's a wife.
Then I can get on with my career.
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