Usually I am the happy smiling wife, waiting for my husband to come home in the evening.  Besides being a writer and going out several days a week to line dancing class, I am the quintessential tidy housekeeper. I have always been compulsive about keeping the house clean and spotless.

Lately, however, I’ve been slipping, falling short in my efforts to dislodge June Cleaver from her throne as the perfect wife and mother.

Today, when my husband came home from work, I didn’t greet him at the door with a smile in my cleaned and starched apron (which I take off immediately so I don’t get it dirty). He came in and the lights were out and I was no where to be found. However, he found a clean pie pan sitting on the counter with a towel in it, as though it was half dried. I’m so embarrassed. He finally found me, in the study, in my lounge chair taking a nap. I was wearing what he calls my bat-girl mask (which is just an ordinary sleep mask),  and my mouth was hanging open. I’m so embarrassed.

I think I have a bad case of napapnea. It has caused me to fail once again to be the perfect wife. What will become of me? Will I lose my thirty-third bid for housewife of the year? Will I ever dust again? Do we have enough TP? These little details keep me staggering along the path of obsessive-compulsive disorder. And they make me tired.


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