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2001-08-24 | 9:31 a.m.

A couple of young women came to the door recently, try to get me to agree to a complimentary upholstery cleaning. They were both about 20 years old. Vicky was conventional-looking but pretty, vaguely Italianate, while Jessie had short red hair and tattooed dots instead of eyebrows. The first dot, nearest the nose, was biggest, and then the dots got progressively smaller as they followed the browline. Polka dot eyebrows. It looked good, really. There were other tattooed darknesses visible under her shirt, around her neck, and on her arms. Bit of a tough sell in my neighborhood, so I wanted to be nice.

I was wearing my "Mormon dress," which is a traditional flowered nursing dress I ordered out of the Motherwear catalog years ago. I feel a little silly wearing it in front of other people, because I know it makes me look like a fundie, but I paid $90 for it, and it's really comfortable, so of course I'm going to wear it until it falls apart.

Vicky had the upholstery spiel down, while Jessie was along to learn the ropes. But Jessie kept interrupting. She asked me if it was my house, to which I answered yes, and then she asked me if I had good credit.

"Do I need good credit to get my upholstery cleaned?" I asked.

"No," Jessie admitted.

Vicky looked horrified, and turned on Jessie. "Shut. UP!" she cried girlishly. They both giggled.

"She's wondering if she could buy a house around here," Vicky explained.

"Oh," I said. "Well, there are a still a lot of bargains in this area. Maybe not in this particular neighborhood," I said, trying to sound informative but not self-important, "but on the East side, and downtown, if you like old houses." I explained that we rent the house from Duff's parents, and that no, I don't have particularly good credit.

"Are you a housewife?" Jessie asked.

I felt my spine stiffen. "I probably wouldn't call myself that," I said. "I work from home as a writer and editor. In fact, I was working when you arrived."

"Oh," Jessie said. "'Cause I want to be a housewife. I want to stay home with my kids." She explained that she lived on the Air Force base nearby and had two children.

"It's really worth it if you can manage it," I said. I couldn't feel too sorry for her, being as it was a beautiful day and she was out walking around. But I understood.

They tried to get me to let them clean the sofa and I resisted, then agreed that they could try the armchair. Only then they said we'd both have to be home at the time, Duff and me, which sounded like a line. I told them that would be hard, since Duff doesn't get home until 7 o'clock. They said they would do it anyway and took my phone number and left, never to return. Which is okay because I can't afford to pay them to clean my upholstery anyway. As it happens I bought a can of upholstery cleaner and Scotchgard for about $10 have been doing it myself the past couple of days. It looks pretty good.

Back in my day, we didn't have Air Force wives who looked like that. Nor can I remember ever hearing anyone say they wanted to be a housewife, except ironically or defiantly, but always recognizing that the term was held in cultural contempt. Of course, things have changed, and even ironic detachment can come full circle. I also remember what my father used to say: Be careful what you wish for. You just might get it.

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