“You like food too much” He said dryly.
As if it was a bad thing to be excited about culinary perfection.
What is it with people trying to mold you into the idea of you that they expect?
What is it with people expecting perfection from other people when they aren’t perfect themselves?
Like the way we scrunch up our nose in disdain when we realize that someone shits, wondering how something so smelly can come out of someone so pretty as if we don’t shit in our own house.
If you really give it some thought, these standards make almost no sense.
There was a time when I used to apologize for liking food because it was not “ladylike”
A woman should eat only around her plate and scatter the rest like chicken feed on the plate.
A lady only picks at her food. She doesn’t enjoy it or relish the taste. That would be entirely beneath her.
Why would she stoop that low?
And in the event that she’s done with a meal and wants more?
She dare not ask because that’s the ghetto of the ghetto. Who asks for seconds?
In the privacy of her home though, this woman would consume two whole plates in ravenous hunger like a starved wolf who hasn’t hunted prey in days.
She would belch loudly and rub her extended belly in relief.
She would use her tongue to pick her teeth, ignoring the hissing noises it would make.
Her hand, slapping her head with an intent to itch her hair (Till today, I don’t know why this works but it does)
At home when the wig comes off and the truth comes out, you know what it’s like to be free.
You smile and sigh in relief because this is what happiness should feel like.
Freedom to be you.
To dance like nobody is watching.
So I won’t apologize sir, that my taste buds work.
I won’t apologize for enjoying something that has given me more reason to smile than all your jokes put together.
These your opinions, they don’t make any sense and you would know that if you stop to listen to anyone else.
“You’re not it” I said, my voice firm and unwavering – an indication of my resolve.
This was how my worst date ended.
But that was my moment of clarity.
My doorway to freedom.
If a lady must act in a way that betrays her freedom then maybe I am not a lady.
I never want to be.