I grew up wanting to be Betty Draper.

I wanted to have a kitchen, OCD-clean and glamourous with black-and-white tile floors and gleaming, spick-and-span counter tops.

I married a man 15 years older than me, and I basically worship the ground he walks on. I've never been happier. I want to do household chores so he has more time to watch futbol. More time to relax.

But we share a house with his bro and sis in law, and his sis in law wants to claw my blue eyes out! This is not a personal attack; just a childish, immature, ridiculous front that can't be defended.

A kitchen is the heart of the house. The center. The place where everything happens that provides nourishment, both spiritual and physical.

Because of a non-admittance or permanent hookey-playing, kindergarten is lacking in one of the household members you'll find here. Separate kitchens have been assembled and installed, gas stoves, pantries, trash, recycling, and all.

Throw a trophy by way of fast construction. Pop a bottle of champagne! I will cook naked. I will bake perfect pie crusts in stilettos and lingerie. I will try recipes, and if I must cook meat, I'll wear gloves.

The thing is, people see a blonde, American girl, younger than them, and they think stupid. Gold-digger. Over-looker.

People don't see me and think: educated. Driven. Humanist. Absolutely in love.

My household has been reclaimed tonight. With the immaturity of an imposed wall, my family, the two of us and Hopper, has found peace. We have our own happiness that does not depend nor fail on the activity, manipulations and meanderings of others. I will cook, clean, and live for the glory of my impeccable, sexy, like-minded husband. And we will prosper. Because people like us (call me unapproachable, please) do.