Sometimes, when my four kids are wearing on my nerves and the dust bunnies are plentiful enough to stuff a mattress, I think I need a nanny.
Then I feel like nannies are for rich people, which definitely counts me out. I mean, I have a hole in my shoe but have to wait for payday so I can buy a new pair. On sale. With a coupon.
So since I'm not upper-crusty enough to afford a nanny, I start thinking it might be cool to have a sister wife. Someone else to help shoulder the burdens of domestic drudgery. An extra pair of hands to, you know, clean the sticky handprints off the front of the refrigerator and pick up Legos. And scrub the boys' toilet, because yuck. And to relieve me of my duties when I straight-up don't feel like doing them, like, "Hey, can you take over laundry and bedtime tonight? There's a new episode of 'Teen Mom' and a pint of Haagen-Dazs calling my name."
But then I think ... a sister wife is an actual person living in my household. Not Rosie the Robot from the Jetsons. She would probably want to watch TV and eat ice cream too and then nothing would get done. She'd have needs and feelings. And, like, feelings for my husband. And she'd also be, like, feeling my husband. Literally. I don't think I could handle all that. (Nor could my husband, for that matter. He's not twenty any more.) Plus, sister wives tend to have more kids, and Lord knows that's not the way to restore order and cleanliness up in here.
So then I think maybe I should hire a housekeeper. Yes! A housekeeper wouldn't be after my husband (well, if she knows what's good for her). She wouldn't ask for any of my ice cream. She'd have her own home to go to when she finishes cleaning mine. Housekeepers don't take care of kids, but I could do that while she's deep-sanitizing the crapper.
Then I remember the hole in my shoe. And the waiting for payday.
Well damn. If you need me, I'll be chasing after my own kids and cleaning my own toilet.
... But at least I'm not sharing my ice cream.