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The Domestic Goddess

By Laura J. Bagby Sr. Producer

CBN.comI remember distinctly several years ago, while working as a graduate student in my school's copy center, having a rather heated discussion with my soon-to-be-married boss about the whole concept of "nesting" and "domestic happiness."

I was about 27 at the time and in no rush to get married and have a quiver-full of crumb-crunchers. For goodness sakes, I had grown up a tomboy and was just fine with that label, thank you.

But somehow he and I got on the subject of married life and the "idyllic" thought of stay-at-home evenings and quiet times of domestic bliss.

At one point I remember retorting adamantly, "I will never be a domestic goddess!" I didn't like the sound of staying at home. I didn't like the notion of getting excited about fluffy bathroom towels and fancy dishes. I couldn't imagine being interested in such shallow, homey things.

His reply taunted me. With a gentle, yet irritating voice and smirky smile he offered, "Laura, one day you will be just like that, and it will be OK."

I swore then and there in the midst of the whir of copiers that I would never succumb to what I considered the status quo of married life. I deemed it wasn't in my makeup to be a June Cleaver or a Betty Crocker.

Well…things have changed.

Maybe this is the dreaded change all women face in their 30s. I just know that I was going along, happily living the stay-out-late-and-order-pizza lifestyle. And then, one day, it hit me. I think I was in a local Bed, Bath and Beyond.

Suddenly, the kitchen cookware was calling, the closet organizers were beckoning, and the bathroom soap dispensers were yelling my name! I found myself endowed with instant brand name retrieval skills—Wamsutta, All-Clad, Krupps—all brightly lighted on the marquee of my mind. I knew thread counts for sheets and the importance of Egyptian cotton for bath towels. I knew that clay pizza stones were best for even heating and that garlic presses are rather useful for everyday cuisine.

What is happening to me? I thought incredulously. Had I sold out? I feared that I had been, as the Star Trek fans would call, "assimilated" by the great borg of a biological clock gone awry.

I had considered that it was silly to have such homemaking notions when so unattached to anyone. It seemed rather desperate, rather giggly schoolgirl.

But then, I had also considered it wrong that I would have any gray hair before I got married, too, and look where that line of logic got me—lots of sparklies that have me frequenting my hairdresser trying to highlight them out of existence. One of these days I am going to be completely blonde through my eradication efforts!

I used to think I was only tempted to listen to the call of domestic bliss while in home stores, but oh no, my friends, I now realize it can happen anywhere.

The other day one of my co-workers introduced me to Longaberger baskets. The first time I heard of the company I recall thinking, Longa-what? and then shaking my head when I heard the sky-high prices. But when I had the chance to peruse a catalog just before bed, I found myself drooling. Should I get the cracker basket or the tissue holder? What pretty basket liner should I get, plaid or floral? I reasoned that though the items were costly, the beauty and lasting quality outweighed my materialistic eye.

Before long, I was obsessed. I turned the light off and no sooner had I laid my head down than I envisioned my purchases dancing in my head. I tried counting Longaberger baskets, but unlike counting sheep, it kept me awake. Perhaps the name is just too long to promote a REM cycle.

I woke up exhausted and even more vulnerable to another attack later in the day. This time it was Tupperware. I don't know what it is about that stuff, perhaps the promise of a neater existence or the guarantee that my frozen food won't get freezer-burned, but it certainly catches my attention. I confess I have the pantry organizers in the kitchen cabinets and several fine storage pots in the refrigerator as I speak.

Alas, I can't seem to stay away. But then perhaps this is what is to be expected. Creating a home, creating warmth, creating a realm for hospitality to grow—that is what we women do— whatever today's feminists say.

And you know what? You really want to know how this fluffy, froo-froo, homey stuff makes this strong-willed, independent woman feel now? I love it! I can't wait to make a home so that I can be the "domestic goddess" I shunned years before.

While I am surely eating my words, I am certainly eating them on better china. God sure has a sense of humor!

Laura J. BagbyLaura J. Bagby produces the Health and Finance channels. She writes inspirational, humor, singles, and health articles.

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