Housewife Test

Yesterday, Dr. B finally got a chance to be "tested" using the Scanning Electron Microscope at work. This is a very difficult machine to use, and very expensive, but as he's had lots of training in the US and much experience, he had been very frustrated because he was not allowed to use it in France until he passed their test. He came home elated because he had not only passed, but got some great images as well.

To celebrate, we decided to go to the late movie, after finishing dinner (carrot salad, rotisserie chicken, potatoes with crème fraîche and butter, salad with homemade vinaigrette and fruity yogurt for dessert.) We saw "Good Night, and Good Luck".

We both really liked it. I was quite intrigued with the style of filming, the directing, the costuming, the sets--it really brought the story to life in an interesting way. The story itself was very apropos to what is going on right now in our country as well.

As we were walking home, during our discussion of McCarthyism, the US Constitution and Bill of Rights and the current state of american civil liberties, I remarked that I actually did love seeing men who dressed in nice shirts, ties and suits to go to work. Sometimes I wish we, as a society, hadn't adopted the "casual Friday" look. I admit it: I love pretty dresses.

When we got home, I went to get ready for bed. It was near midnight. I saw Dr. B's planned outfit hanging in the bathroom.

His shirt was a mess of wrinkles.

I asked, "Honey, isn't there something else you can wear? I haven't ironed this shirt yet."

"No, it's fine, don't worry."

"But it looks awful."

"Well, there's nothing else."

I didn't buy this one, because I recently ironed a bunch of shirts for him, but I knew better than to argue with him after midnight, as he would be the one getting up with the dog when she nosed him awake at 6 AM.

So, after midnight on a Tuesday Wednesday, I took out the ironing board (Lucy, terrified, jumped in bed with Dr. B) and ironed his clothes for the next day.

As he was attempting to wake me this morning, I was having the most horrible nightmare. It took me 20 minutes and 1/2 cup of coffee to fully come out of it.

I had been given a "Housewife Test" that was basically a book the size of a dictionary. The pages were thin and fragile, and reminded me of a type of paper we used to have when I was a kid, down near the typewriter, my Mom called "onion skin". On each page were between 12-15 questions for me to answer, some being "labs" that we had to do and attach. I remember the first lab had to do with cutting together butter, sugar and flour with two knives until the mixture formed "coarse crumbs." I was to live in a mobile home while completing it, with another woman for a roommate. (This was my friend J who teaches PE at SMG. She mostly sat on the couch drinking coffee, and didn't worry too much about the test.)

Now, this test is not a problem. I am good at tests. I can cut together pastry ingredients with two knives to form coarse crumbs with the best of them.

The problem was when the committee arrived, I realized that I had missed a section of the book about a centimeter thick, and was in the bathroom trying to cram the answers in while my roommate tried to stall them by offerring them coffee.

We had no homemade cookies, so I knew there was no way she would succeed. A cup of coffee and small talk only gives you so much time.

I attempted to run out the back to make it look like I had been out for the day. I still wasn't done with the test, and my answers, in pencil, were smudged and messy.

As I came in the back door, the committee leader ('Kitty' from That 70's Show) smiled sweetly and snatched the book out of my hand.

As this happened, Dr. B put a cup of coffee in my hand (did I mention that I can sleep sitting up?)

Moral of the Story: on Tuesday, instead of doing yoga and taking a long walk with Lucy through the area, I think I probably should have been ironing.

Or someday, when we are making more than a post-doc's salary, I will send his shirts out.

I kind of like that idea better.