When I Grow Up
I am trying to decide what I want to be when I grow up. I’m almost certain this is something I should have some sort of opinion about.
So far my options include:
1. Another 2 years of school to become an expert on Fetal Alcohol Syndrome (after the half year more I have to go for my English degree). Sounds more useful than an English Degree…but perhaps limits possible career paths.
2. Become a housewife. (Why does this make me immediately envision a “house hippo”? Stay at home mom?…I’m all for that. There is a lot of work involved in being a mom. But that isn’t what I’m talking about. No kids yet, thanks. Uttering the word “housewife” sounds in my head like a pet, or pest. Cute, round, and slow, sleaping 16 hours a day in dryer lint before making dinner and applying a little makeup for my bread-winning hubby. I feel that I would spend much of this career learning about Gin. Through consumption. Actually, come to think of it. That wouldn’t be all bad.
3. Be a Chocolate Chip Cookie.
This last option may give you a little insight into both my ability to make decisions, and the state of my mental health. Please, don’t go. I’m not crazy. Well a bit. But not in this instance…much. Moving on.
A former friend of mine once told me that as a child, he very seriously informed his mum that he would like to be a chocolate chip cookie when he grew up. Now, the fact that this is the only thing that comes to mind when trying to make this same decision at…not-a-child-anymore age…is making me a little concerned for my future.
I suspect it isn’t a reasonable choice. The life cycle of a cookie is alarmingly short.
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You Tube link to the rare House Hippo (Canadian public service announcement about why we shouldn’t believe everything we see on TV. Sad really, as I would like to have one. Or be one. You know, one of the two.)
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