How kept am I?

Court often jokes, especially here on campus, that she is a "kept woman." The faculty in her department can't understand why she settles for a part-time administrative support position, especially when they find out she has a college degree and even attended graduate school.

In the beginning, she tried to explain to the puzzled masses all the benefits of her position, of which there are many. But all they could see was the low pay and low prestige of her job. Eventually she stopped trying to explain and simply started telling everyone she is a kept woman. They know she's married to me, so the answer works and they no longer hound her.

True; for tax-purposes I am the head-of-household. I have a considerable age advantage, I'm at or near the peak of my career, I have a lot of education, and through a lucky series of events I fell ass-backwards into a dissertation topic that left me with very bankable expertise. But that's just money.

The reality is, I am the kept woman.

Every morning Court brews my coffee, adding a touch of cinnamon ("a touch of love" she says), because it's good for me. She packs my breakfast. And she packs our lunch, which is usually made of yummy left-overs from the meal she planned and prepared (with my help) the night before. We have lunch together nearly every day in my office (except on Fridays, when she's home) with linen napkins and place mats. It's quite elegant.

I can't remember the last time I balanced our checking account, or even bothered to log in to check our transactions. Court handles it all, and because of it, we suddenly have money for travel, concerts, races, doctor co-pays (which are substantial right now), date nights, mother-daughter nights, guitar lessons, cigars... I could go on and on. She does it all with cash; no credit cards, ever.

Moreover, she spoils me with costly extras, like subscriptions to Direct TV's NASCAR Hotpass, and NFL Sunday Ticket. I also enjoy extras like satellite radio and my own on-line music subscription.

She plans all our meals and does all our grocery shopping (I tag along sometimes). And the woman can cook. I do a fair share of the cooking, and I like to cook, but I loathe meal planning and grocery lists. She buys only the best ingredients (usually organic and if possible, local), and most meals are made from scratch.

Being part-time, she's home every Friday. When I get home on Friday night the house is all shiny, the laundry is done, the bed linens are fresh, and dinner is ready. It's like a page from a day in the life of Ward Cleaver; only in my life, there's a bedroom.

Hummina hummina.


How kept am I? Quite.