Chapter Eleven Dottie
Chapter Eleven
Dottie
I have every modern, time saving appliance a woman could possibly want in this lovely new house Daddy bought for us. I have a clothes washing machine and a dryer and a new Frigidaire.
But there still aren’t enough hours in a day to do all the things necessary to keep this house clean. Or at least up to Dickie’s standards for cleanliness.
When he puts on his white glove and runs his finger over the top of the kitchen cupboards, he somehow still finds dust, even though I dust religiously. It feels like all I do is wax and scrub and iron and clean, all day long.
There are lots of other nice young couples in this new neighborhood, but most of them are busy with children. I’d like to get to know them, but Dickie says I can’t waste time having coffee with the neighbors until all my chores are done, and my chores are never done.
He makes me keep track of how I spend my day in a little notebook. I have to account for every hour. Sometimes I write down something like this:
1 to 2 p.m. Washed the baseboards
And then I sit down, put my feet up on the hassock and read a book for a whole damn hour instead, just to spite him.
I know I shouldn’t feel this way, wanting to spite my husband. But I can’t help it. I told him I don’t need his advice on how to run our household.
And he told me I’m young and new to all this, so I need direction. Like he’s a wise old man who’s been married for forty years or something. He’s only four years older than I am.
Anyway, there’s a whole army of women home all day on our cul-de-sac, and I’d love to get to know them better, but in addition to all my chores, I’ve got pretty bad morning sickness, which should really be called All Day Sickness because I feel like upchucking all the time.
But maybe I’ll work faster and be able to join the ladies for coffee when I’m a little further along and feeling better.
Ruby says the morning sickness should end in a couple weeks, when the first trimester ends. I wish my mother were here to answer questions about things like this, but she isn’t, so I’m awfully glad I have Ruby.
I finally went and saw her last week and brought a gift for her beautiful new baby. Now that Dickie and I are living on the other side of town, I don’t see her as much as I used to. Dickie drives the car to work, so I have to take the bus.
Daddy offered to give us a second car, but Dickie says we have to stand on our own two feet.
I notice that he was happy to take this house Daddy offered, and the country club membership, and the car Dickie drives, but when it’s a car for me, well, then Dickie suddenly wants to hold the line and be independent.
Anyway, this is one of the ways Dickie makes it difficult for me to get together with Ruby.
Last time I saw her, she lent me her copy of The Feminine Mystique, that new book everyone’s talking about.
Dickie saw it sitting on my nightstand and he picked it up, walked out to the garage and tossed it in the trash can.
Now he calls her “Radical Ruby” and told me I shouldn’t talk to her anymore. Dickie gives everyone little nicknames. When he’s unhappy with me, he calls me Dottie the Dimwit. Makes me feel about two feet tall.
So I might have given Dickie the impression that I was at the dentist this morning . . . when I was actually visiting Ruby.
I don’t like lying to him, but Ruby’s been my best friend since second grade, and I’m not going to stop seeing her just because Dickie disapproves of her taste in books.
But at least he’s excited about the baby.
That seems to be the only time we get along lately, is when we talk about the baby, plan for the baby, discuss names for the baby.
If it’s a boy we’ll name him Gerald, after my dad, and if it’s a girl we’ll name her Priscilla, after Dickie’s mom, who passed away a few years ago.
I can’t wait to be a mother. And I’m sure everything will be better between Dickie and me, once we have a baby in the house.