So I took a few minutes during my closet/dresser clearing maelstrom to switch the laundry to the dryer and put in a new load. The microwave (which is, as we know, the closest I come to cooking) was chugging along with the nummy scent of roast beef and mashed potatoes.

I was decked out in a pair of the husband's Army sweat pants and an old Varney's sweatshirt and some big ol' socks, humming as I worked.

And then it hit me like a ton of bricks and I panicked.

"OMG - I'm a housewife!"

The cats stared at me. I stared back.

"Oh, no, I write porn. It's okay."

And then I went back to my cleaning.
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