Most of the women in the neighborhood

went to work over the next year

including me.

It was expensive to raise three kids

and we could use the money.

I got a Customer Service job

in a factory.

It was only six hours a day

and I had big plans for my money

and for my freedom

and for becoming an equal partner

in my marriage.

Of course, I had to spend some of my paycheck

on hiring Mrs. Grabowski

to watch the kids

after school

and some on catching the bus

to get to work

and some on coffee and bearclaws

at break-time

but still, I was making my own money.

The job was really really hard.

I had to answer the phone all day long

and run back into the factory

to see how far along

the widgets and gizmos were

and then get back to the customer

and try to break the bad news gently

that their widget was still in Research and Development

or that the machine that was making their gizmo

had broken down again.

People in the factory came to hate

the sight of my face.

They felt that I was rushing them

or spying on them

or just making a nuisance of myself.

So after a few months

I told my boss that I was quitting

but he said to me

"Well, that is a tough job

and not everybody is cut out for it

so we'll move you into Shipping and Receiving instead."

So I went downstairs and worked

packing widgets and gizmos

in pink plastic peanuts

brown wrapping paper

tape

address the package

weigh it

and throw it on the mail pallet.

I was covered in pink peanuts from my head to my feet.

Some days I had dark thoughts at work.

I thought about how

with me working

Larry could keep more of his money

for himself

because it was me

not him

who bought the tutus for the girls' dance recital

and the soccer shoes for Adam.

Or I thought how

I would really rather stay home with the kids

than pay Mrs. Grabowski to do it.

Other times I thought about

the Feminine Mystique

and wondered if Betty Friedan

had this drudgery in mind

when she encouraged us to get out of the house

and get fulfilled.

Or I would think

that I could never be an equal partner with Larry

because he made so much more money than me

that it was a stupid goal.

Some days, though

I felt empowered

by my job

and bounced around all day

with a smile on my face.

But those days were rare

and probably the result

of hormones.

One morning Annabelle spilled milk in the fridge

a big mess

dripping all over the shelves

running under dishes of salad

pooling on a pumpkin pie

and I was hurrying

trying to get them off to school

and me off to work

and I just desperately wanted to stay home

and clean my fridge.

Those were the days when I just hated Betty Friedan.

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