There must be something in the air that’s making all these women toss aside their laptops in favor of a mixing spoon. I’m not judging, I’ve caught it too. Much to Michael’s enjoyment.

Last night I came home, kicked off my shoes and got to baking these delicious blondies. While they were baking, I fed the dog, picked up clutter and vacuumed the house. And as they cooled on the stove top, I made guacamole.

Then I hung up my apron, smoothed my skirt, fixed my hair and made Michael a dirty martini, which I placed lovingly next to the paper and his slippers.

Or not.

But I did (not so) secretly enjoy the role I had taken on. The role of the domesticated woman, keeping her home in order. And while part of me enjoyed watching Michael stuff his face with homemade treats, the other part of me was gagging. I imagine if I was watching one of my intelligent and savvy friends parade around in such a manor, I would hit them in the head with my stiletto.

So it’s the age-old internal struggle. Is it possible to be a strong, indepedent woman who also takes pleasure in taking care of her home and her man?

I think so. After all, despite her squeaky-clean and conservative 1950s character, Donna Reed was an anti-nuclear activist and anti-Vietnam protester. She even won an Oscar for playing a prostitute!

So while my fridge may be filled with baked goods, my closet is filled with power-shoes.

I think Donna would be proud.

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