Chapter Nineteen Dottie
Chapter Nineteen
Dottie
It’s Monday, so I’m doing the washing today. I love the smell of sheets when I bring them in from the clothesline late in the afternoon.
He and Daddy and the bank just went ahead and did all these things without asking for my opinion, much less my permission. And I was too naive to ask in those early weeks after the wedding.
I know that if I ever need money or anything else, Daddy will be there. But . . .
I’d just like to have something of my own . . . something to remind me of who I was before I got married.
Even my name isn’t mine anymore. It’s an odd practice, when you think about it, referring to a woman by her husband’s name with the word Mrs. tacked on the front. Sometimes I feel like an appendage, rather than a person.
But I have lots to keep me busy. I guess I should be grateful for that.
Dickie suggested I use this time before the baby to learn how to become a better cook. I think I’m already a pretty good cook because I took over all the cooking after Mother died.
But I only know how to make normal meat and potatoes style food.
Dickie wants me to learn fancy French dishes like that lady on TV.
He wants us to host dinner parties. He’s even given me a deadline.
I have two weeks to learn to make boeuf bourguignon from Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking cookbook and it’s awfully complicated.
He also wants me to learn to make Lemon Chiffon Pie for dessert.
Then he wants to have a banker and a state senator and their wives over for dinner.
He says it’s important, and I need to get all the details right, which makes me even more nervous. I never realized it before, but Dickie is awfully ambitious. He says he wants to run for public office.
Which is fine, I guess. I just never thought I’d end up as a political wife. So I’ve been working on the boeuf bourguignon.
But what I really want to do is work on Dickie’s car. It’s making an odd sound and I’m pretty sure it’s the fan belt. On Saturday, I’m going to drop him off at the club so he can play golf all day, and then I’m going to drive the car back here so I can sneak under the hood and poke around.
I don’t have all the tools I need, but our garage is a good size.
It’s a little bigger than normal because Daddy paid the developer extra to build a nuclear fallout shelter underneath.
He even outfitted it with shelves and cots and blankets.
I use it as a root cellar and keep my tulip bulbs and all the canned goods down there.
There’s an extra door, too, on the backside, facing the yard, so I can come and go without anyone knowing the lady of the house is out in the garage changing spark plugs.
Anyway, time to bake buns and bread and pineapple upside down cake. Dickie likes a dessert with his evening meal. He says it keeps him sweet.
I sure wish that were true.