By the Crown, I am exasperated!
Must every blessed, golden-threaded moment of my life be subjected to microscopic scrutiny? Apparently, according to my dearest husband, I am now a social recluse. A hermit in a tiara. A monarch who, in his infinite wisdom, lacks the common courtesy to attend a party.
"Darling," he says, with that patronizing tone that makes my blood boil, "You simply must make more time for your friends."
MUST I? I am running a home! I am ensuring the smooth operation of an entire household. I have less free time than a squirrel trying to hoard nuts before winter. And yet, I am chastised for not indulging in idle gossip and cucumber sandwiches?
He seems to believe that my life is some sort of leisurely garden stroll, where I have nothing better to do than sip tea and discuss the latest scandal. Does he not understand the weight of the crown? The sheer, unyielding pressure?
And frankly, my "friends" – bless their well-meaning hearts – are often more concerned with social anxiety or dementia ridden grandmother's than, say, being a wife and mother.
I cherish my friendships, I truly do. But my priorities lie with the home! If he wants me to socialize, perhaps he should take over some of the load. Perhaps he can change diapers and feed the baby all while trying to keep him entertained.
Instead, I am left to juggle it all, while he laments my lack of social graces. I swear, if he mentions my "neglected friendships" one more time, I will personally invite him to switch roles. Then, we'll see who has time for socializing!
By the gods, I need a vacation. Alone. Preferably on a deserted island with no one but the seagulls to judge my social calendar.
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