I want to be a wife. I want to be a MAN-WIFE. I do not want to marry a man! No. I have higher standards than most wives. I want to marry a woman. She will be my husband.
I do not mean she will be in any way manly about it. No. But that is the role she will throw herself into. She will spend hard days providing at the highest possible level, moving great levers in business and industry, wearing tweed, settling into smoke-soaked leather armchairs in the private, exclusive husbands-only clubs from which I will be excluded, and the insides of which I would never raise within myself the wish to see. I will know my place.
In the evenings I will have ready at a moment's notice, a simple but exquisite repast. My husband will close the front door, throw off her overcoat (which I, with sprightly step, will take and put in its place), and we will both sit down to a dinner that will subtly thrill each of us with a sublime appreciation of the sensual. Then, as her eyes spark with that steely glint I know so well, I crave so much - eyes locked with mine, she will rise from the table - strength and purpose in every gesture - and, sweeping me up into her arms, she will carry me upstairs and into the master bedroom, where we will spend ourselves and our evening deeply absorbed in the delights that can be shared between husband and wife - working out every possibility and exhausting them all anew!
In the morning, she will rise refreshed, and kiss my late-sleeping cheek, as she sets off again to prove to the world who's best. And I will smile, dreaming in the deep content that only a well-loved wife truly ever knows.
I do not mean she will be in any way manly about it. No. But that is the role she will throw herself into. She will spend hard days providing at the highest possible level, moving great levers in business and industry, wearing tweed, settling into smoke-soaked leather armchairs in the private, exclusive husbands-only clubs from which I will be excluded, and the insides of which I would never raise within myself the wish to see. I will know my place.
In the evenings I will have ready at a moment's notice, a simple but exquisite repast. My husband will close the front door, throw off her overcoat (which I, with sprightly step, will take and put in its place), and we will both sit down to a dinner that will subtly thrill each of us with a sublime appreciation of the sensual. Then, as her eyes spark with that steely glint I know so well, I crave so much - eyes locked with mine, she will rise from the table - strength and purpose in every gesture - and, sweeping me up into her arms, she will carry me upstairs and into the master bedroom, where we will spend ourselves and our evening deeply absorbed in the delights that can be shared between husband and wife - working out every possibility and exhausting them all anew!
In the morning, she will rise refreshed, and kiss my late-sleeping cheek, as she sets off again to prove to the world who's best. And I will smile, dreaming in the deep content that only a well-loved wife truly ever knows.
Comments
I'm spreading domesticism!