Slice of Life 1

Ding Dong Ding Dong

The alarm goes off next to me. I wake up and try to put it off but I can’t find it. Alex, my partner mumbles in his sleep “Mmmm!”

I find it finally and press the snooze button. He turns around and snuggles up to me. I feel the warmth of his body against mine.

“Wake up sleepy head” I say. He mumbles in his gruff morning voice and kisses my neck. We stay in bed under the quilt for another five minutes. The alarm goes off again.

“Wake up, sweetheart, you’ll be late”. He finally gets up and looks for his sweatshirt and pants. He mumbles again and goes out of the room. I look at him from the bed. He looks yummy, I think to myself.

I drag myself out of bed a few minutes later. I put on my dressing gown over my nightie. I can hear him singing under the shower. I enter the bathroom, and pull the shower curtain apart and look at him standing under the shower. He splashes water on me. I laugh and playfully admonish him.

In the kitchen, I put the water heater on and start washing the dishes from last night. The radio tells me of all the horrors that happened in the world.

“Baby, where are my blue socks?” I hear. I tell him where they are. This is a normal thing with him. Baby, where is my belt? Or where is this or that would follow. I don’t mind it. I find that cute.

I put out the plates and the cutlery, put the bread in the toaster, take out the muesli, the milk, the orange juice.

I go into the bedroom to check on him. He is standing there in his underwear. I look at him. He is a nice example of a manliness. Whenever I look at him, I wonder if I could have ever been like him. A man. I was born one, I was still a male biologically but I had never felt like one. I had always felt different to men. But did I feel like a woman?

What was it to feel like a woman. Some of my friends told me that just because I was socially living the life of ‘woman’ it did not make me one. After all for them, I was being the caricature of a woman. But to be frank, I feel like doing all the things I was doing for him. I feel a enormous ‘niceness’ inside me when I cook for him or iron his trousers and shirts, tend to the washing, clean the house. He isn’t very good at all this. He can manage but not as well as I could do these things. I do not think that I can do all this better because I was socially ‘trained’ to do these chores. I wasn’t… as I was born and raised like a ‘boy’. He in return would do all the things I was not good at doing. He was very good in fixing things, changing fuses, putting up shelves etc . I am not good at all these things, I never was or maybe I wasn’t as interested in honing these skills. I guess I was more interested in reading about recipes, more interested to chat about household chores and tricks. Cooking up a super meal gave me a better high than fixing a flat tyre. I prefer Desperate Housewives or Sex and the City to Alien or Star wars. I prefer a chiffon dress than a pair of chinos. When I see a woman, I find myself looking her nail colour, her ear rings, her hair-do, her purse than checking out her ass. I do check out her ass but in comparison to mine. I prefer looking at Fashion TV than the Live telecast of the Monte Carlo formula 1. Why? Because I think I am a woman. I am not a man. Not like the man in the bedroom strutting around in his underwear, smelling of his after shave. I don’t mind polishing his shoes . I feel an immense pleasure doing all those things.

I feel that he participates in our life in his way and I do my share. We are different but complimentary.

So he leaves for work, and before he leaves he holds me in his arms and whispers… “I love you baby” He pulls out a small gift wrapped packet and gives it to me.

I am thrilledddddd!!!

He leaves. I watch him from the window.

I sit down at the breakfast table and open the packet. Inside there is a diamond ring, a small note says “ Happy Woman’s Day”.

I wish all a Happy International Woman's Day!