A Woman's expectations, full circle

I have a job. Well, I have two jobs. But for the sake of this post, we will focus on the one I get money in exchange for working.

I recently picked up a bar tending job every other weekend. Since I picked that up, I picked up another 3 nights a month on Mondays. I work 7 days a month. I call it a job, but let's face it, I "work" in a bar, where I can drink alcohol, where my kids are not allowed, where I can have adult conversations and where I can see my friends often. It's really more of a vacation for me.

I am not sure my dear husband likes my job. Well, he likes that I bring home money. But the rest of it I am fairly certain he isn't a fan of.

A normal working Saturday is me showering, actually dusting off the blow dryer, putting on makeup and then finding an outfit that covers enough but is daring enough to score big tips. This is where my husband has issue.

Trent: "Um, I don't think so!"
Me: "What?!?!"
Trent: "You are not wearing that to work."
(and then I do anyway.)

The bar I work at is usually full of middle aged men during the day, drinking beer, chatting about what they SHOULD be doing, drinking more beer, leaving to go cut the lawn, and then coming back for more beer when they get thirsty. Toward the evening, the clientele shifts a bit and a younger group comes in. They do shots, drink mixed drinks, more shots, talk about how their probably going to be in trouble with their significant other, stay anyway, and do more shots.

I love my job. And I think I finally figured out why.

At home, I am Mommy. I am the keeper of the house, the master of the grill, watcher of the oven, the handyman, the referee, the nurse, the photographer, and the taxi service.

At the bar, I am a woman. Plain and simple. Female in gender, I have what every man in there desires, married or not. And as a bartender, you use that flirtation to your advantage, or you don't make money.

Every flirt, every suggestion (albeit sometimes inappropriate,) every wink makes me feel like a woman again. I don't feel like someone's mom or think about the laundry that is expected to be done or the sink of dishes that should have been washed. I am just....me.

And its nice to be..... me. I get to be selfish at the bar. I get to think about myself. Sure, I want to keep my customers happy but my selfish needs are adult conversation (albeit sometimes slurred) and no one asking me for chocolate milk before we brush teeth and read books together. Nope, ain't happening at the bar! (If it did I may have to rethink this post.)

In the meantime I will continue slinging brews and chatting about everything from politics to weather to Nascar to the local gossip. My 4 year old wouldn't have a clue what I was talking about anyway.