Cordelia Wednesday January 24, 2007, 0 comments

Her mother would be horrified by the flowered apron she wore over the suit she had worn to the office today. Even more so by the matching oven mitts, no doubt. But this didn’t stop Cordelia from poring over the Joy of Cooking, nor did it stop the sweet smell of success from escaping the oven door and infusing the entire loft.

Her mother had been a card-carrying feminist – had burnt bras and protested. She’d been a single mother, and had raised her daughter to be a strong-willed, impressive woman that would take no grief from any man.

And she hadn’t. She was a successful lawyer, one of the most respected in town, and she had built her practice from the ground up into a profitable business that afforded her and her husband with this very impressive condo. Calling it a loft was a bit inaccurate – it was bigger than most people’s houses.

And yet here she was, in the kitchen, and “slaving over a hot stove.” She wanted to get this meal done, but more importantly she wanted to get it right. Her mother would roll over in her grave if she heard this (and if she were dead), but most of all, she loved the look of appreciation in her husband’s eyes when she cooked him a dinner he loved.

That’s right, this strong, proud, successful woman, the daughter of a hard-core feminist, liked cooking for her man.

But she’d never be able to explain that to her mother. Her mother wouldn’t understand. She’d only see Cordelia chained to the stove – and her husbands wishes.

She’d never understand how feminism had taken the kitchen away from women. And not just the kitchen. It had taken away stay-at-home mothering. And that was the key thing. Feminism had vilified being a woman!

Screw that, thought Cordelia as she fussed over the salad. Feminism could kiss her ass. She wasn’t cooking because she had to, she was cooking because she wanted to, because she enjoyed it. Because she chose to. And she wasn’t alone. Many of her friends, each successful business women in their own right, had expressed the same sentiment.

Feminism had taken away choice, and she wasn’t standing for it any more.

She was proudly taking the kitchen back.


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