I was asked, at work, if, of all things, I was a mother. I must confess, the question stunned me slightly, and I was unable to process and reply at first. In due time, I was able to utter that, no, I was not a mother, not in the traditional sense, as I did not have offspring of my own to care and look after. As the more queer perceptive of you already have noted, in this world with “your kids, my kids, our kids” that we all seemingly live in, I could have hinted at being part of a non-traditional family unit that did came with kids in one form or another. Regardless, that is not the case, as children is not a part of my current household. Nor are pets, for that matter. It is, however, of the number five (no mambo) in total, and we all get pretty well alongside one another. My next-door roommate even works the same sort of shift as I do, so folks were already in the know of how to adjust to that when I moved in, and it pleases me greatly.
Not that my household is the Imperial Household, the Royal Household, or even the Presidential Household, for that matter, but it is mine, my own, and I’m quite fond of it, thank you very much.
