Stepping back from a two week whirlwind tour of Facebook and Twitter promoting my new eBook**, the glamour faded with the dark of the night and Monday morning hit me smack in the face. Wake-up, make breakfast, make lunch, wave goodbye, clean the house, make dental appointments.

You see, I am a caretaker of an aging parent. They don’t call us house-wives, but face it people, that is what I have become. All the more galling because I am a staunch single lesbian/feminist without progeny. But times are hard, deals are struck. It’s the way of the world. The Rolling Stones are right: “You don’t always get what you want.”

What makes my version of the 2014 house-wife the new normal? The perfect storm: longer living through chemicals coupled with a bad economy.

As a proud second wave feminist, I am skeptical to hear that feminist women are enjoying their new role as a house-wife, that they have chosen this job. Feh, I say. Unpaid, domestic work is not fun, enlightening or satisfying. It is necessary. I get reclaiming words–dyke is one I like to use, but don’t like it to be viciously yelled at me from across a crowded street. House-wife can only be reclaimed when there is equality between men and women choosing house-wifeism for the good of the family. Until then let’s not try to put a flower sun dress on the the word house-wife.

**Assisted Loving: How I Stopped My Homo-Centric Life To Take Care Of My Elderly Father http://tinyurl.com/q7l86nn