I Don’t!

“Kathy, when are you gonna get a husband?” Maddy – age six, diminutive, fiercely bright – demands from the Volvo’s child seat. Dawn, driving, grins.
     “Tell me, what are husbands good for?” I answer.
     “Woodworking,” Maddy says confidently.
     Dawn sighs. Years of diligent household egalitarianism rendered futile. “What else does Daddy do?” she prompts.
     Maddy scents a trap. “Husbands cook and they sleep in the same bed as you.” Touché.
     “Women can do woodworking,” I say, “I saw you hammering.” Dawn winks: can Maddy keep outfoxing us?
     “Ye-es.”
     “You make pizza.”
     Maddy is affronted. “Kathy! I don't want to be your husband.”