Where I live, there is intense competition among women to be the most exhausted. It is not clear to me yet if this one-upmanship is the female analogue to the male dick fight, or if it belies something more complicated.
I'm too busy to figure that out.
What I can say with certainty is that we have a Stepfordian instinct to over schedule. The suburban code of honor mandates that all time is to be filled with children's activities or volunteer work. Any woman caught loafing on a sofa watching Oprah will be summarily hanged.
Ironically, there is an inverse proportion between a woman's perks and her level of exhaustion. For example I was recently told, "I don't have a single second to myself" by a woman with a housekeeper, live-in nanny, manicured fingers, rock solid abs and chemically straightened hair. She was on her way to a private tennis lesson at the time.
Recently, an NYT article discussing frazzled mommy volunteers made its way through the mommy circuit. It championed women who have learned how to say no. By dropping their volunteer activities, these woman found happier selves, happier children, and happier husbands.
Thus far, I have managed to hide my propensity for sloth from the suburban mafia, either because fundamentally nobody cares, or because they are all too frantic to take notice. Either way it's fine with me. My only hope is that this "just say no" trend catches on before I'm outed.
tlc
