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Domesticity or the lack thereof

I’ve never been domestically inclined. Oh, I’ve tried to fit myself into that mold. I’ve played the role of the model housewife. I know how to sew, scrub, cook, bake, and pinch a penny. But certain circumstances bring out my true priorities.

The broken oven, for instance. We’ve lived with it since June. I’m perfectly capable of picking up the phone and calling an appliance repairman. But have I? Nooooo. Why would I want to bake in the heat of summer, huh?

A domestically-inclined person would call about the oven within hours or invent a way to bake over an open fire in the back yard. Me, I discover the crockpot dinners in the frozen-food department of the grocery store. You throw the contents of the bag into the crockpot and turn it on. Eight hours later, dinner’s ready except for minor finishing touches. That’s my kind of domesticity. That, or carryout. Who needs an oven?

If it had been my computer on the fritz, I would have called for help immediately if not sooner.

Okay, you’re reading this blog, so you’re at least reasonably computer-literate. Are you also reasonably domestic, or are the two mutually incompatible?

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