Prime Wife Material

This article in Forbes, "Don't Marry Career Women," has provoked an entirely predictable rustle of comment and complaint, with the usual suspects aghast at blatant sexism, while others express extreme aghast-ness at the aghast-ness of the usual suspects.

[Editors Note -- Now that Warren Jeffs is in custody, shouldn't that be "Don't Marry A Career Woman?"]

The thrust of the article is that such women are too something, and not enough something else, to make good wives. Or something.

In any event, we find that we are not surprised in the least that Miss Julie has a somewhat different take:

I never knew I was so desirable. My complete apathy for climbing any corporate ladder, for pushing papers and wearing panty hose, for having the same job title for years on end has made me, evidently, prime wife material. My loathing for a regular, full-time nine-to-five job day in and day out is now a draw. Who knew the ability to grow bored with a job within five days was so vital to getting married? Clearly I'm on the path to all kinds of success, though not in the realm of careers.

A few days ago I was talking with Naomi in the yard. She had just finished cleaning out some grain bins (was filthy) and I had spent nearly seven hours (no kidding) mowing all of the lawn (was filthy, too). We were not looking like model material at that moment, though, our lack of careers allowing us to do such handy work about the farm, evidently made us wife material.

I took in her dirty face and clothes, she taking in mine. "I can't understand why we're still single," I said, joking.

"Me neither," she said. "We're hard workers."