Me? Work? Surely Not!
Every now and then, someone tries to drag me out of my semi-retirement with a tempting offer of a bit of, usually lucrative, work. I’m always deeply flattered and want to say yes at once, then I slip back into my comfort zone and start thinking things like, ‘I can’t do that. I haven’t got time. I’m out of practice. I’m far too busy. I’ve got carrots to purée, meals to cook, children to look after, coffee to drink. I’ve got nothing to wear.’
What I have to force myself to think is: would I really like to do it? All things being equal – if I had no carrots to purée, no school runs to worry about, a lovely work suit, enough time? Would I want to do it then?
The answer is still usually no, as I’m generally quite lazy and believe in keeping my life as simple as possible. Sometimes I wonder if I truly am as miserable being a Housewife as I like to think I am because every time a career lifeline is thrown to me, I quake with fear and run in the opposite direction.
Anyway, I haven’t been offered a job out of the blue for ages. I was beginning to think I’d managed to slip nicely into my retirement and could spend the rest of my days drinking cappuccinos with the girls, choosing diamond earrings and wondering which gas-guzzler to spend DH’s salary on next. But today it all went wrong.
First, a call asking if I’d be interested in giving a presentation to a group of middle-management types. Public speaking is one of my biggest terrors, though I’m sure my coffee-morning girls would feel I was up to the challenge given how they’re often subjected to lectures from me. Anyhow, I was still quaking in my sling-backs at the thought of talking to ‘real’ hard-nosed career people when the phone rang again. It was a PR firm, asking me to write some copy for a client by next week.
It never rains, but it pours. So what will I be doing next week? Puréeing carrots, of course. And maybe some chicken. Viva La Housewife.