2000-12-07 - 14:58:02
Hyper ramblings on marriage and office dress codes

I stumbled across an entry from adub this morning when checking Quoted. She talks about being a feminist, but still expecting a romantic, mysterious relationship where the man treats the woman like fine china.

I don't agree with some of what she said. You can't possibly keep your spouse in the dark forever about all your little hygeine habits and whatnot unless you live in a big house with servants and boudoirs like they did in Regency days. IMHO, in the right frame of mine an SO's little foibles, faults, and habits become endearing, and are a mark of how much you've invested in each other ... there's all these little things you know about him/her that (hopefully) no one else does.

Perhaps I just feel that way because I'm very fierce about loyalty and belonging. Breakups are very, very hard for me -- I guess I'm lucky I've only had two. Last time, as bad as the relationship was, we had still shared pieces of ourselves with each other. With each piece, another strand was added to the metaphorical rope that bound us together ... and six months meant a lot of strands. Cutting that, chopping it off abruptly, was like cutting off my own foot, even though it was poisoning me daily.

I do agree, however, with a few of the other things adub had to say.

I intend to have my own income sources after (if) I marry, but I'd still like my husband to pick up the check. Also, once I have funds, I'd like to join a gym and work out and lift weights again ... it always improves my self image. But I will still want my husband to open doors and be protective of me and carry the luggage and pound the nails. (Damn, I wish I was shorter and more petite! Perhaps this IS ludicrous of me to expect. I am 5'9", after all, and while I'm not overweight, I'm not a pencil either).

*snort* That reminds me. All main-brand pantyhose makers should be sent to Hades! I ruined a pair again this morning. At least they DID last a couple of weeks this time. The activewear pantyhose -- the only kind to buy if you end up wearing them more than a few hours at a shot -- are all made for people shorter than me.

Even the size Q, which it *says* will work for people my height. In order to stretch the legs long enough to fit, I have to tug, adjust, tug, adjust, tug tug tug. And since (like every other human being) I have these things called fingernails on the end of my fingers, in the midst of all that tugging a single impatient yank can stab right through the fabric and RRRRIP! There's a run from here to there and back again.

Speaking of fingernails, that's another gripe I have about office-y jobs. I can't paint them. So I grew up a tomboy, so what! I still like having shiny pretty nails. Not pink; I detest pink. Pink can follow the makers of pantyhose right to Hades. Even mauve is pushing it. Red is a little loud for my taste on an everyday basis, even though do like it. So what does that leave me with? Mmmm, lovely colors. Midnight blue, forest green, gunmetal gray, sky blue, leaf green, lilac, even tar black. Can you just picture me showing up in a nice dress and punk nails? No, I can't either.

... Another work foible today: "Why is the print box greyed out in Netscape on the grounds crew's computer? It works on mine!" Me: "Well, when was the last time it worked? Have you printed from other programs lately?" "Umm, well, I haven't actually printed from it before ..." Me: "Let me check ... Ah. Well. That would explain it. There ARE no printers set up on that computer. No printer, no printing." "Ohhhhh, I see ...."

Enough, I must back to the grind before someone catches me loafing. =^)