Lately, being of age and everything I’ve started freaking out about the future, see if I’m going to have my first child at 27( A girl, Rorisang Ava [Insert surname here]), I need to get married at like 25, which means I need to have some sort of a stable boyfriend from like 22, I think this is quite a fair projection/time frame thing, except I’m turning 22 next year and I still harbour a deep fear for members of the male species. Even so, I have more serious issues to worry about this whole domesticated female thing, it doesn’t work for me.
I hate Cooking, it’s so boring! I mean which smarty pants was like, “Nah bra, let’s give up taking long walks in the bush, to cook this buck that we just caught” whoever it was, needs to be shot, because thanks to that person, girls like me (and I do believe there are many) are kind of screwed. It seems being able to cook is some kind rite of passage that every girl needs to go through before they are accepted to be a proper woman, well I hate to break it to you and the (Possibly most unfortunate) man that will marry me, but this is a step that I’m happy to skip, and I know what you’re thinking, how are you going to feed your family? Two words: Chef. McCain (No More chop chop)
See, in my head, I’m going to Run the world, and in between Giving orders and signing peace treaties, I will not have time to make steamed vegetables anyway, hence I don’t have to worry about being able to do it, and if things bomb, well that’s why we have best friends right?? To feed us in times of need.
My fears are so real, that I even have a standby Husband. We’ve decided that if I hit 30 and I’m not married He’s going to marry me on a beach in Cape Town. This is actually more my plan than his, I don’t know he’s going to react when I rock up on his door step a couple of years from now like “Oh this is your wife? Well… she can come to the wedding too, the more the merrier”
My Mom, has framed a picture of myself and my matric Dance Date and put it up on full view, for every neighbour, guest and random to see and because blacks are well…Blacks. everyone always thinks poor Gareth is my boyfriend, and that I’m going to marry Him. I will never forget the intense disappointment in my aunt’s eye’s when I told her that Gareth was not my boyfriend. Shame, she hasn’t had much hope for me in that department, and the fact that I hardly ever wear “proper female attire” dresses and the like, doesn’t help, as far as she is concerned, the only light at the end of the tunnel was that photograph and I quickly crushed that dream for her.
I always have my head in the clouds, I’m super messy, I always miss important calls, I can’t grate cheese and I’d totally give up brushing my hair for an extra ten minutes of sleep (Don’t judge-You know you’ve considered it once in your life) I can never look into the right camera, without doing it spastically, and I still don’t know my left and right I have an unhealthy obsession with nail Polish, and all things purple, all I ever want to do is eat ice cream and sing at the top of my voice, I want to save the world and just make everybody smile, I have no interest in cook books, washing powder and all things domestic, what’s the point?? Surely’ there’s more to life than ironing, setting tables and buying cute tea cups, and if anyone is going to prove that, it’s me.
So here’s a piece for all the girls that don’t want to be in the kitchen, for the girls that can’t grate cheese. The girls that have no time to be peering into ovens and microwaves.Chase your dreams, eat your ice cream, buy your nail polish and marry a boy, who’s mom won’t mind that you can’t cook and who will not expect you to wake up at ungodly hours to clean, basically… marry a white boy!
That’s my plan.