I found my conscience tutting at me and my distorted sleep patterns. ‘It’s flippin’ four o’clock and you’re sitting upright idly in your bed, immersed in impossible romantic situations…you sad, sad girl.’ I had no regrets; sleep just doesn’t appeal to me like roses and sunsets. I eluded myself with more backwards love stories, courtesy of YouTube and it’s array of ridiculous Bollywood dramas. After all, why wouldn’t someone want to treat themselves to two hours of world war three breaking out between (dressed-to-perfection) mother and daughter-in-law, while the son is running the family business like the god-send he is? Suffice to say, I needed a cold six am shower, to brain-freeze the ‘romantic’ images and thaw them out like the unwelcome icicles they are!
Thoughts ran through my mind as my forehead simultaneously numbed itself under the shower head. Can I do that? Contentedly surrendering up my aspirations of working life, to serve my family like the domesticated, house-wives of those Indian soaps?
I could. I know I could. Yes it would require a great deal of perseverance- which I must first possess- but I could train myself to be a par excellence house-wife for my rich business hubby, pretending that he is my better half, whilst I prepare another delicious breakfast for him, awaiting his return from the study.
I could do all of this, but I am more than a potential house-wife. I aspire to be so much in my life, and I can not compromise my happiness and most importantly, myself, to conform to the concept that is ‘extreme house-wifery’.
Now tell me this, would I have invented such an awesome phrase, if I was consumed in making Chicken Biryani for my extended family? Point fricking proven!