I’ve Decided to Become a Trad Wife

Trad — as in traditional — wives are all the rage now. I’m late to the game, but why should young Trad wives have all the fun?

They get to go barefoot — as in barefoot and pregnant. I love to go barefoot. Even if I can’t get pregnant anymore.

For seven years in my twenties, I was a preacher’s wife. Not a Trad wife kinda preacher’s wife. Pretty much the opposite. A rebellious barefoot-going kinda preacher’s wife.

I went barefoot on purpose then. I like to feel grass between my toes. The ladies of the church gifted me shoes, thinking they could control me.

Didn’t work then, but being the independent rebel I’ve always been is exhausting. All those young, Trad wife influencers look so rested in their TikToks.

Being controlled is what Trad wives are all about. They let the man decide everything, including what they wear and where they wear it. No need to worry their pretty little heads. Just keep the man’s little head happy.

No more pesky decisions

No more agonizing over what outfit to wear when going out, resulting in me trying on, discarding, and piling on the bed at least five outfits before deciding. I’ll save time and energy, and I’ll be less stressed. I’ll even save money on clothes.

Oops, I mean HE will save money on my clothes.

And I’ll only need one pair of shoes, because — bonus — I won’t be allowed to go anywhere but church, anyway. Everywhere else I’ll be barefoot.

The main issue I have with becoming a Trad wife is keeping the home clean and perfect, and getting home-cooked meals on the table on time. I don’t do that now for myself.

Not sure how a man will make me any more willing or able to do that. What are you offering gentlemen? Make it more than your little head.

I once was free, but now I’m expensive

Of course, as a Trad wife, I won’t be expected to have a real job, so I’ll have more time to devote to being the Apple of His Eye Candy. At my age, though, that’s expensive.

For starters, there’s hair dye to cover the gray. There are expensive skin care products. Mani-pedis aren’t cheap.

Depending on whether my future husband likes pubic hair or not, there might be Brazilian Wax costs. I hear these Trad husbands like young wives, so I’ll need to compete, and try to look as pre-pubescent as possible, at least below the waist.

Religious Trad men won’t want me

I’ll have to find a Trad man who isn’t religious, though. The religious ones keep their wives pumping out babies on the reg. They’re “building an army for Christ”. Onward Christian Soldiers and all that.

I can’t get pregnant anymore, and I’m older than 13, so the religious ones won’t want me. I’ll need a man who is less about armies and more about Medicare and naps.

As a post-pregnancy woman, I won’t need one of those men who won’t or can’t work to support their Trad wives, who are completely okay accepting Medicaid to pop out those babies, and welfare after to feed them.

They think their cute little soldier babies will secure America’s future, so they believe America should support them now. I’m guessing they don’t know about the cuts to Medicaid.

The government better leave my Medicare alone, though. I may need another eye lift soon to stay Trad gorgeous.

I’ll need a Trad man with money

I’m not looking to live on welfare, so my non-religious Trad guy better be making or have made some big bucks. I’m expensive. Just ask my accountant. And my hairdresser, manicurist, massage therapist, plastic surgeon, etc.

So far, I’ve been good at paying them all by myself all my life, but after I stop working, to wear ruffles and stay home to cook from scratch, somebody has to pick up all those costs. Flour and eggs are more expensive than ever, too.

I’m late to the game, but why should young Trad wives have all the fun?

He shouldn’t balk at the costs because as I perfect my looks, I can become a TikTok star, therefore bringing in money. It won’t be the same as having a real job, which isn’t allowed, because it will just be me — and a small film crew, make-up artist, hair dresser, producer — filming me doing all the Trad stuff I’ll be doing anyway.

Like inventing a new sourdough recipe. Or curing cancer. But I’ll give him all the accolades. “I couldn’t have done any of this without my Trad husband’s beneficial support” kinda thing.

Then let him try to complain about all the people in and out of his house all day, whom he has to pay. My TikTok money will be my pin money. My butter and egg money. Don’t worry — I’ll tithe.

I’m ready to stop worrying my pretty little head about life stuff. Can I pay the electric bill this month, should I have bought this house all by myself, is this the right shade of red for my hair, or do I look like a harlot?

Trad guys and their wives use words like harlot. You know, a woman who trades sex for money. Nothing at all like what a Trad wife does.

Harlot or Trad wife — decisions, decisions

Hmmm. Maybe I’ll just be a harlot instead. I’ll still get monetary support without all the ruffles and cooking from scratch. I’ll charge more if they want that role play.

Then I’ll leave “work”, go home, kick off my stilettos and go barefoot, shower, wash off the makeup, put on sweats, and binge watch “Mad Men”, giggling into my wine and eating delivery, made-from-scratch sourdough and artisan cheese.

Kinda like I do now.

. . .

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This post was previously published on MuddyUm.

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