The Death of Domesticity

I'm in a pissy mood today, and I really don't know why. Frankly, I have been for days. There are many causes from not having started packing at work, to students doing poorly on exams that I swaer aren't too hard to the ongoing issues with the house. I'm back from a pedicure, which usually cheers me up, but it hasn't. We'll see what the rest of the day brings. I have pictures to post, and a long rant about the ineptitude of roofers; as well as a great wailing and gnashing of teeth about why carpenter ants would choose a tree at my house. But that's for another day. I have a few friends getting married this summer. Thankfully, for the most part, I'm not invited to any of these. The only thing worse that I could be invited to right now would be a baby shower. I. Just. Can't. Do. It. The fawning, the oohing and ahhing, it gets to me. A lot. Moving on. Or back. I was talking about weddings. Now that my dining room table is (mostly) clear, I have come up with the items that must be regifted because I will never use them, nor do I wish to give them storage space. One such item was a stainless steel spice rack that held, like, 6 small bottles. Not bottles as big as the glass Penzey's bottles, but the little plastic ones, maybe. There are 2 problems with the spice rack: One, I'm not a stainless girl. My kitchen is more French country cluttered. And Two, I have a spice shelf in a cupboard, and a spice drawer that are both bulging with things I use regularly. Mostly with bags of things from Penzey's because I know I'll use it up before it's been in there all that long. So regifting...It's a nice rack, just not me. (TUA: the sexual overtones of this just hit me, and will make me giggle for a good long time...I'm so 10 years old.) I put it in one of the many wedding bags I have, got a nice card, and shipped it off to one of the girls getting married. I got her thank you card yesterday (yay!), and at the end of it I was struck with irritation over the whole thing. She raved about it ("It will be perfect in our kitchen! It will match our appliances! How did you know we didn't have one?"), but then ended with the comment, "John will get so much use out of it, because I don't cook." Maybe it's just the ongoing pissiness on my part, but I could hear the giggle at the end of the sentence. And it ticked me off. It got me thinking about the number of my female friends who almost take pride in the fact that they really don't cook, and either their husband/partner/SO does, or they pick up stuff from the prepared aisle of the grocery store most of the time. I'm not saying that cooking is solely the domain of any woman, I'm just ticked that there seems to be some badge of honour that has developed for women who can't do more than boil water. I just don't get it. I like to cook. J sucks at it, and is willing to try anything, which is great, as far as I'm concerned. But I just wonder what the allure of being a bimbo in the kitchen is. Anyone know?

For Those Confused... husband is "optically challenged". Don't tell him he's blind until you meet for the second time. Don't tell my students that they are either. Paralympics Booklet