Wife-up.

I was just reading a post in motherlode by Lisa Belkin about polygamy, a show called Big Love, and a community of women in a cul-de-sac who affectionately refer to themselves as sister-wives even though each has their own husband, their own kids and live in separate houses.

I’ve joked about wanting a wife for years; whenever the conversation between Al and I went in the direction of someone we know who’s had an affair, more than once I’ve mentioned that if it were to happen between us and after I killed him and then brought him back to life, I request that it be with someone who is available to live in, clean, do chores, run errands and do laundry.

While it’d be no fun to consider sharing my husband with someone, I’m a realist, which means that if it results in my not being completely and utterly wiped out and exhausted by 7 pm such that I am rubbing my eyes and slumping over my dinner like my kids, well….

Okay, perhaps not. But, the lifestyle of the women in the cul-de-sac really does speak to me.

The idea that I go about my days in companionable activity; sharing or swapping responsibilities with other like-minded similarly disposed moms…imagine not having to go to the market because what you need is coming to you, doubling the quantity of a meal to share with a friend, taking turns picking up each other’s kids or simply having a friend sit your kids while you and your husband need to play hookie from parenthood.

Every summer since we moved into the house my favourite, favourite, favourite ritual has been having friends over for the day – come when you want, bring your random fridge fare and we’ll assemble and fabulous fresh feast with everyone’s left over’s and nearly enough’s to enjoy at the end of the day before lighting a bonfire and roasting marshmallows while still in our swim suits as the night stars reveal themselves above. This is as close as I get to that kind of communal experience, and I quite literally crave it.

I am stricken by how comfortable and quick we are in the company of women.

Chaos turns to order. No one needs to be asked to check the oven, season the salad, grab the plates, turn the gas off….it simply gets done. We all hustle equally and no one feels it. We just dance around each other and chat and laugh and whisk babes off to bathrooms regardless of whom they belong to.

Which means that I either need to live in a climate that allows me to have pool parties year-round or I have to start dating again. Girls this time. Wonder what the hubby will think about this?

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