Hillary glanced out the breakfast nook window. A few leaves drifted by, as a few more laying on the ground, stirred. Their neighbors,

the Waterfeld's were getting in the car.  The clock read 9:10, they were headed to church, and so wouldn't be back until around 12:30ish.  That's a big fat chunk out of one's weekend...not that it mattered anymore.  Hillary sipped her coffee and moved the now cold scrambled egg around her plate.  Chet had already eaten his three, two english muffins and the four little sausages.  Hillary again glanced outside, glowered at the matronly woman; June was one of those happy-happy, joy-joy people...because she was an idiot. Never even held down a job - that's what she'd heard. Always cleaning something, or serving someone food and beverage - and always looking just everso; sshurrrr, have to cope somehow, when you've no real skills...stupid wench!

"You've barely touched your breakfast, what's up, Hillary?"  Chet's eyes traveled up and down his wife's form.  The little paisley dress she'd bought shortly before the sack, now, more or less just hung upon her bony frame. 

Oh, i don't effing know... wouldn't have anything to do with being stuck in the effing 1950s, would it??? She wanted to respond.  Oh golly gee willikers, I forgot to put on my little pearl effing necklace - ugh!  Instead, she half mumbled, "Not hungry."

"Hillary, I think you should call Dr.Fache's office tomorrow and set..."

"Why?"  Her moody gaze was caught by some family issue going on within the neighbor's sedan.  The usual: the boy grossing out his older sister with something he either had in his hand or said, and one or both parents telling both their kids to can it.  The car, bound for hymn-howl central, turned onto the street.  "Nothin wrong." 

Nothin', except my whole life is ruined, she wanted to add, but didn't.  Wasn't Chet's fault, but it sure didn't make her feel any better, when he had - on several occasions - more less, parroted, "it's the law."  And then, without missing a beat - with lunchpail in hand - mr.noworries would head off to work...hi ho, hi freaking ho...

"Have to go, be back soon," he kissed her on the forehead, and headed out.

Being Sunday, Chet usually had the day off - since most places were closed, so the chance of broken pipes wouldn't be discovered/repaired until the following day.  Today, however, the elms - a senior care facility, had a kitchen issue...and about 150 meals to prepare and clean up after.

As for doctors?  No thanks.  And besides, Hillary could only guess how many sick people would DIE for want of getting an appointment.  Her doctor, Dr.Salhe, just shy of 30, had also gotten sacked.  But atleast she had the option to go back to being a nurse - nursing was an exempt category...for now.

Shortly before one, Hillary put the potroast in the oven, but had forgotten to add enough water to cover the vessel's bottom.  She checked the cookbook's instructions; oven temp was to be 350 for three hours; then it needed to rest about an hour.   Meh, easy enough, any half retarded monkey... She turned on the oven.  

She then reached for a spiral-bound folder - one she'd used, in her past life, when she'd actually had a life - to keep track of meetings, deadlines ... ya know, stuff that mattered.  Now the four tabs, somehow divided into six days.  Monday was dusting, vacuuming, baseboards and such; Tuesday was washing - oh, and ironing, since many synthetics were no longer available...that is, for people reduced to having to manage on one-income.  Prior to the sack, the couple had, twice weekly, contracted out household chores, and about half their meals were delivered.  Wednesday was cleaning both the upstairs bathroom, and the downstairs powder room.  Thursday was more laundry,  changing the bedsheets ... no wait, that was also Monday's too.  Friday was the kitchen counters and appliances, windows/sills.  Saturday, of course was food shopping, from a carefully made list -  this fun little chore also included being reduced to ...ugh ...clipping coupons.  

She checked over the categories to see if she'd forgotten anything.  Of coouurse she had :  the coffee pot and toaster - oh, and the window sills in the dining room.  Freaking brain's gonna frigging atrophy.

Our not so happy housewife was having a less than cheerful day.