When I was pregnant with my first baby, my husband set up a prenatal massage for me as a birthday gift. In the lobby before the massage, I was asked to fill out a questionnaire about my pains and stresses, so that my massage therapist could best help me relax. On the line for “occupation,” I wrote, “homemaker.”
A gal probably a little younger than I went over the sheet of paper with me when I finished. She double checked my answers related to the prenatal nature of my massage, for safety, and then she asked, “What’s a homemaker?”