I am close to pinpointing the source of my domestic rage. Today’s clue: The song “Wives and Lovers,” with lyrics by Burt Bacharach.

See, according to this song, I’m supposed to take care of myself and look “pretty” not for my own sense of self-worth, but because otherwise I will become obsolete like Dilf's old Playstation.

This concept pisses me off, and makes me rebellious.

Let’s listen in to this monstrosity, shall we?

“Wives and Lovers” by Burt Bacharach
(comments by Ubermilf in parentheses)

Hey, little girl, (I’ll fucking kill anyone who calls me “little girl”)
Comb your hair, fix your make-up.
Soon he will open the door. (hmmm)
Don't think because
There's a ring on your finger,
You needn't try any more (Oh, I thought I might get a pass since I just cleaned up after a two-year-old’s diarrhea, did 85 loads of laundry, cooked and cleaned up after 3 meals and 36 snacks, plus planned a week’s meals and did the grocery shopping, but okay)

For wives should always be lovers, too.
Run to his arms the moment he comes home to you.
I'm warning you. ( WARNING me, motherfucker?)

Day after day,
There are girls at the office,
And men will always be men. (Not if I cut off his scrotum, his penis and, disembowel him!)
Don't send him off
With your hair still in curlers.
You may not see him again. (So, wearing curlers allows him to break a solemn vow he made to me? Interesting. Do corporate lawyers know of this loophole?)

For wives should always be lovers, too.
Run to his arms the moment he comes home to you.
He's almost here.

Hey, little girl (I warned you about that shit!)
Better wear something pretty,
something you'd wear to go to the city.(But he’s not actually TAKING me to the city. I see. I’M the only one who has to keep the romance alive.)
And dim all the lights,
Pour the wine, start the music.
Time to get ready for love.

Oh, time to get ready,
Time to get ready,
Time to get ready
For love. (Yeah, I’m feeling the love.)

Now, Dilf has never, ever made these sorts of threats. And I do want to look lovely for my husband; but because I love him and want him to be happy.

And do you know why I love him and want him to be happy? Because he would never, ever treat me like his fashion accessory.

Yet the idea has been implanted in my head by songs, movies, advertising and romance novels, and I resent the hell out of it.