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The New Mrs. Huxtable

Our post college years usher in the expectation of finding the RIGHT job, RIGHT neighborhood, and RIGHT person to share our 2.5 kids, dog, and home with a white picket fence. I think I’ve cleared most of the more challenging hurdles in the relay race of life.  I’ve embarked on a quality, intellectually fulfilling career. I live in an upwardly mobile “trendy” neighborhood in a cool city.  But when it comes to checking off the most notable of boxes on my checklist, “finding the RIGHT significant other,” I’m stymied.  Now this may sound like the clichéd yuppie, “woe is me, single in the city.” But it’s not.

…I hold a woman’s “inner-freak” and flexin’ on Instagram in the same esteem that I hold her PhD in Chemical Engineering.

I shamelessly admit that I am the product of the once BET-fueled over sexualization of America. As such, I hold a woman’s “inner-freak” and flexin’ on Instagram in the same esteem that I hold her PhD in Chemical Engineering. Stupid? Yes. Sophomoric? I’ll be the first to admit it. Sadly, I do not believe my plight is that different from what many other young professionals are experiencing. We are a culture that glorifies sexual prowess, and instant self gratification.  Miguel may have it right for many young professionals when he croons “I don’t wanna be loved.  I just want a quickie.”

The worlds of sex and networking are more and more becoming merged, almost reaching transaction status. So I posit this, in an age where adults are just as impressed with how skilled they are at “beating it up” as they are with  having scored a perfect 800 on their SAT verbal, is it still possible to find our Claire or Cliff Huxtable?  Or, are we an emotionally desensitized generation that will be confronted with the universal challenge of “turning a h* into a housewife (husband).”

Has my generation killed Claire Huxtable?

While logic tells many of us to find our Cliff and Claire Huxtable – Buppie royalty, years of media brainwashing tell us we need a mate who can do what Miss Twerksum does. Should we shrink at the thought of swapping the professional for the promiscuous?  Is it impossible to dream that one day I will pull up to my picket fenced house only to be greeted by my 2.5 kids and an apron clad Draya? Has my generation killed Claire Huxtable?  Or do we simply not wanna be loved, and just want a quickie.  Is it time to embrace the reality of the times and consider turning a (you know what) into a housewife?




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