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The day I became a woman

I woke up in the morning feeling unsure of myself. It was as if the world had been watching and judging me as I slept. I got up and hurried to look in the mirror.

Something was not right. My hair was an affliction, my eyes were not bright and my smile did not radiate. For the first time I caught a glimpse of my breasts. They were but oddly shaped tiny melons. My shoulders looked broad.

For the first time I realised how much weight I had gained. I wanted to scream but my voice was coarse and unpleasant.

I wasn’t bad looking, I was just in bad shape. So I got to work. I dipped my hair in chemicals, I glued, I crotched, I ironed and straightened. Nature often has to be reminded of things, a girl has to make up for the gap. I painted something in and painted something out.

The rules for my clothing are quite simple but difficult to master. My skirt has to be short yet long. My top must show just a little cleavage, a girl can’t have her breasts dangling about in public. The secret, I found, is a tight push-up bra to prop them up. I put on my stilettos, a dash of perfume and I was ready for the world.

On that first step outside, the world’s indifference hit me like a ton of bricks. I was not met with appreciative smiles or friendly affirmative gestures. What met me were greedy lustrous eyes that looked at me like a juicy piece of steak to be devoured.

By the end of day my feet were screaming blood and my knees were weak. As it turns out, stilettos are made for something other than walking. But I put on my smile, my job as a woman was not done. I still had to do the cleaning, the cooking and the washing.

Finally the day was done but there was another one just like it ahead. As I slept, in silence and darkness, I could not help but ask myself why. Why do I give so much to a world that gives so little in return?

Why do I cherish men who treat me like a prize? Why do I slave for employers who treat me like an exception? Why do I expand so much effort to a church that commits me to subservience? Why do I slave in labour for children who will one day neglect me? Why do I cherish so much a society that treats me with coldness and indifference?

I soon fell off to sleep. When I woke up in the morning all was well. I was a man again.

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9 Comments

  1. Ouch Ouch 16 March 2013

    you poor sausage… sorry doughnut

  2. bernpm bernpm 16 March 2013

    “The day I became a woman” …….or what a wet dream can do to your mental health!

  3. pongoland pongoland 16 March 2013

    I found that very incisive and touching. Thank you Brad.

  4. Conrad Tarupiwa Conrad Tarupiwa 17 March 2013

    When you have nothing to write just leave it. Desperate attempt.

  5. Momma Cyndi Momma Cyndi 17 March 2013

    Nope. Wrong on far too many levels. From the appearance to the feelings – not a single ‘bingo’.

  6. lali lali 19 March 2013

    Seriously, what is wrong with you?!

  7. Phily Phily 19 March 2013

    Very interesting writting, the life of a woman its about appearances and feelings ” talk about walk a mile in my shoes coming to reality”.

  8. MyView MyView 19 March 2013

    Seriously Brad…

    Well I’m glad for you it was just a dream, for me as a woman this article is just gibberish. Agree with Conrad,Momma Cyndi and Lali..Had you spoken to a woman first about your dream you could have saved us all having to point this fact to you..this sucks!!

  9. siphiwe siphiwe 9 April 2013

    what a thoughtful piece. I liked the issues and views which many women and teenage girls go through, visible in you writing. As a young man living in this country whereby a huge emphasis is made on equality on paper but not practiced in reality i find my self wondering of the way in which i treat women daily, my mom, my sisters, colleagues, an so on. Good piece man, keep it up. this is the type of writing encompassing such issues, we need to stimulate us to think about, change and improve the way we act towards other people.

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