“I WENT TO WIFE SCHOOL”
It was my hilarious fiancé’s idea. He’d been watching Marie Kondo and complaining about the state of my flat. He’d discovered I did not own an iron. Or a kettle. And kept only nail varnish and vodka in my fridge. “You should go to wife school,” he joked, googling it as we laughed. I don’t know who was more surprised when several options appeared.
I barely need to detail my objections to wife school. The very concept feels regressive and sexist. What does it even mean to be a wife in 2020, when I earn more than my fiancé does? Going to wife school would have remained a silly joke if, secretly, I hadn’t also had my own worries about my suitability for marriage.
With our wedding fast approaching, I’m increasingly anxious about what “forever” really involves–and what becoming a wife means for me. Does craving security and romance while wanting a big party and meringue dress mean I’m not a proper feminist? Mostly, I worry marriage means losing my own identity. When people joke that being a wife entails having my husband’s dinner on the table with a ribbon in my hair, I’m not laughing–that’s exactly what I fear. Is there such a thing as a “modern marriage” or is that an oxymoron?
