Freedom’s Just Another Word For Work
By: Ann Brown
There’s something that’s been bugging me since Passover. It’s the whole liberation thing. Don’t tell anyone, but…..I am just not all that into liberation.
You know what liberation brings? Responsibility.
So, um, yeah. No thanks.
As a slave in Egypt, what would I worry about? Nothing, that’s what. Room and board: check. Permanent employment: check. Year-long suntan: check. Slaves have all the damn luck. No bills to be paid, no writing deadlines, no having to choose colors for a bathroom remodel, no hours wasted perusing the Internet for vacation houses on Whidbey Island, no asparagus to return to Trader Joe’s because it had a super funky smell, no afternoons at the Toyota dealership reading magazines and eating their free popcorn while they detail my car, and no feeling bloated after a huge meal of eggplant parmigiana.
Yeah, slavery. Man, that would be the life. Sun, job security, a dip in the river. Okay, I will just say it: Why did we leave Egypt?
Was there a vote? Because I think I would have to have cast mine with the Hell No, We Won’t Go To The Promised Land movement. The drones, the slackers, the lovers of routine – these are my people.
But nooooo, we ALL had to be free, and now look at us. Liberated. Stressed. Looking for work. Texting while we drive. Throwing our underpants into the washing machine and not noticing that the used maxi pad is still stuck to it.
That would not have happened to me in Egypt.
Someday, my Pharoah will come.
I hoped Robin would be one of those misogynistic, old school chauvinist pigs who didn’t want their women to work or worry their pretty little heads about anything. I mean, he was all muscly and macho when I met him, and he dressed like Billy Jack. You hook up with a guy who wears a big black Stetson and carries a sword – you make some assumptions, you know?
Turned out, however, that macho, sword-wielding Robin was all about equality and feelings and scented candles and shit. When I told him that I wanted stay home and be a housewife, he laughed so hard one of his fillings popped out. Then we had our first major fight. That was 32 years ago. I’ll let you know when it’s over. He thinks he won because I have a job but joke on him – I go to work for, like, seven minutes a day and then I come home and I just sit up here reading Us Weekly and watching Mob Wives, and every week or so I pump out a blog post and call it a day. So maybe I did okay in the end.
Still, I would totally rock an Egyptian tan.