I met her once, in 1998.

Betty Friedan, that is. (Just read ‘The Feminine Mystique’ at 50.)  She was a friend of my boss.

I met Gloria Steinem, too, a couple years before that. A different boss knew her. (She is more stunning, in person, than you can imagine, by the way.)

My bosses, all of them except for one, were Feminists with a capital F.

And here I am, after all that influence, all that exposure: a corporate wife, driving my 8-year-old Subaru around with my two kids in the back seat, off to the grocery store, home in time to make a nice dinner for them and my husband, who usually gets home too late to eat with the kids. (They usually have dessert with us while we eat dinner.)

I am not, unlike Friedan, bored out of my mind. It is easy not to be bored.

And I do have an economic point, managing this house as I do, to within an inch of its life. That kind of efficiency saves money, time, and energy. And it increases the productivity of the dollar-earner in our home (that husband of mine).

I remain free to “move on to something more.” In fact I can actually do something more at the same time.

I wonder what our daughter, and our son, will think of Betty Friedan at 75, or of me, in 2038.

I hope they don’t think I “sacrificed” or “gave up” anything. I hope they know I chose this, because I could, and that choice is all that matters.

Making sure you have a choice.

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