After about a month of living in Scotland, sitting around alone, wondering what the hell I had done, one of B's co-worker's wives told me about an expat women's group she was considering joining. I agreed to tag along to one of the newcomer coffee meetings and afterwards thought, what the heck, might as well join. It's not like I have ANYONE else to talk to.
The group consists of some of the kindest, funniest, most intelligent women I have ever met, but boy do they piss me off. Most of these women have been on field assignments with their husbands before so they have the whole housewife thing down to a science. While this sounds great, it makes me wonder how B puts up with me. I am the Worst. Housewife. Ever. They cook 5 course meals, bake everything from scratch, take care of multiple kids, dogs, and still have time for yoga, PTA meetings, facials and group events. I, on the other hand, can barely dress myself in the morning. Just kidding. I like getting dressed up, but I would rather work a twelve-hour day than bake a casserole and clean a toilet with a grubby brush that was once white (blehh!). You see, I wasn't hardwired to be domestic. But everyone can learn the ropes of domesticity, right? So that's not the problem. The problem is television.
