What Would Julia Do? (WWJD?)
My husband thinks I’m stupid. Your husband thinks you’re stupid too, right? It’s a narration I’m hearing in my brain from a late 90s film in a big city, or at least it sounds like it’s from the late 90s, except its 2024 and I’m not in a city at all. But maybe you are because I can be anywhere, right? (Presumably in 2024 otherwise I think we’ve went terribly wrong with time travel). I’m standing at my kitchen sink resetting the coffee pot for tomorrow morning because one of the many luxuries I provide for my family during my role as stay-at-home mom, teacher, homemaker, and utter queen is a steady and at the ready supply of caffeine for the adults in the household as soon as our feet hit the floor in the morning. (Usually at an ungodly hour due to our three little wild angels.) I can hear my husband and the children screaming about some nonsense from the dinner table. Mostly about what I did or did not make for dinner and I’m spent. The last few weeks have been a blur of doctor’s appointments and filling out pre-k forms and assessments and striping bedsheets and piles of laundry as we attempt to get them out of pull-ups at night. It’s just been a lot...Not that I’m complaining. My God, don’t do that! Why even have children if you are going to voice any ounce of displeasure along the way, right? My husband has bloodwork in the morning, and I hesitate on how much coffee to make because I know he won’t drink it. I also know he can drink it. I’ve taken many a fasted blood test before and you can drink black coffee in almost all circumstances. But, I also know he won’t listen to me. I know this in my soul. He’s allergic to penicillin and the idea of his wife being right. I’m fairly certain of those two things. In an emergency, I’d probably still let them administer the penicillin (he was a child and it wasn’t even an anaphylactic reaction) but the second one, I’d have to inform them of the risk for sure, because my husband definitely thinks his wife is stupid. Like, pat her on the head and walk away kind of stupid. His disregard for my intelligence is not the kind that would necessarily make you uncomfortable if you were to be seated next to us at dinner or introduced to us casually at a party. If you asked him directly, he might even sing my praises. But I know. I’m telling you. I know.
As I continue washing the dishes and setting up the coffee with the voiceover playing in my head…But whose voice is it? Carrie Bradshaw? No, that can’t be quite right because she never had children and you know what? Fuck Big and fuck Aiden too. Minnie Driver? Isn’t she British? She’d probably tell people to fack off and who the hell knows if that even means the same thing? No. No, it is Julia Stiles. I say Julia Stiles, but maybe Julia Stiles would have kicked my ass. Or, maybe the me who watched Julia Stiles that was seemingly in every movie that molded my upbringing as an angsty teen dreaming of attending Wellesley or Bryn Mawr or Columbia (spoiler: I am not that smart or that rich) would have kicked my ass. Because, wasn’t I meant to be living in New York City writing the next “Great American Novel” and not shaving my armpits? Shouldn’t I have a boyfriend who looks like Freddie Prinze Jr. but like, a little less handsome? Sometimes I want to scream…AM I THE ONLY ONE? AM I THE ONLY ONE WHO FEELS THIS WAY? Surely, it’s not just me.
But, I don’t. I make the coffee. I tuck the kids into bed. And, when we flip through tv shows later and we land on The Bourne Identity. I try not to feel rage when my husband is only able to recognize Julia Stiles from this movie. When I question him to death and he can’t come up with a single movie she stars in…I push it down. And I wonder, what would Julia do? And at that moment I decide that I may live in an incredibly rural area, with a Goldendoodle, and more testosterone than you can shake a stick at, but I will not let my disadvantages and stereotypes hold me back from my inner Julia. I will continue in my desperate cause to be the weirdest person in this tiny town. I will be heroic in my efforts to bring you shitty cowboy novellas and angry marriage essays alike. Continue reading at your own peril and continue asking yourself, what would Julia do? And know that you are most definitely not the only one.
*This is satire. Relax.
**Buckle Bunny Chapter 2 Coming Soon…