How It All Began

There's always been things about life that I just ASSUMED would happen. When you're a child, you assume you'll grow up, get a decent paying job and hopefully, live a better life than your parents-- at least, financially. Well, unless your dad is a multi-billionaire, then you'd just have to hope you could squeeze by on a few millions until the geezer kicks the bucket.

I assumed I'd have a good job. I even hoped, though I can't really say I assumed, to have a good marriage. (Honestly, I always thought I'd end up a cat lady. Sometimes I'm still surprised I was lucky enough to get married to a Cool Guy.)

One of those things I always assumed would happen would be acting like a grown up. I'd learn to pick up after myself, learn to cook and clean and sing happy songs to children while having fabulous hair and perky boobs.

Sadly, reality is often harsh.

My house was constantly a mess, even though I felt as if I was always doing SOMETHING. We had grown accustomed to eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches every night...that is, if we had bread. I felt as if my days were one big blur of crap.

It always seemed as if everyone else had their lives together.

That's when I started it. The Betty Crocker Experiment. At 29, it was time for me to learn to be a grown up. It was time to learn to clean the house, pick up after myself and eat something that wasn't smooshed between two slices of bread.

It was time for a change. A big one.