Last week, I answered a questionnaire for a national polling company. The form asked, “Do you work?” They meant. Are you employed? I paused, pen suspended over dual boxes. Yes or no? I scribbled in the margin.
Yes, I work. Everyday. I take care of my family. Full time. By choice. It’s 2013 not 1957. This is a sexist question.
Fourteen years ago this month I changed day jobs. The current one doesn’t garner a paycheck. I’m on call 24/7 to complete tasks that may require a philosopher, an engineer, a maid, a chauffeur, and a chef. All at once. The position demands stamina, focus, and a generous portion of pixie dust.