While I was spending my weekly allotment at the hairdresser, I occupied myself with a magazine. Slouching ever so slightly in my chair, my ears peeked out from the overhead dryer just enough so I could listen to the gossip. It’s one of my only joys in life, right? Franny was having an affair, Suzette was struggling to keep her daughter dressing modestly, and what ever were we going to do about the Bartlett Family. They hadn’t been to church in months. They are such a bad influence on the town’s children. After this, I make my way home on the bus. Tying my apron around my 18 inch waist, I start in on a cake for the local battered women shelter. Many of them, like myself. Housewives who didn’t know their place. If I neglected to keep up my appearance, I may be joining them.