Recently I was at a lovely dinner party – really lovely, but towards the end of the evening it was clear that the men had remained at the dining table happily quaffing red wine and port. Over on the comfy sofa, there we were, the women, sipping water and various soft drinks. Now don’t get me wrong, it’s not a complaint, just an epiphany. If we women had been living in another culture we would have been clad in black, making baskets or lace, but still waiting for our men. Different culture, same story.
Actually, it’s not about the drink, but rather that probably none of the men present would have sat on a comfy sofa and drunk water while we women had a few drinks. It’s simply the way it is. I figure it’s fine, and that most of my subservient habits are my own fault. I live with four males (if you include the dog), and trust me, they need looking after.
But the winds of change are building in the Pagan household. The golf season is upon us again, Star I, now with lovely girlfriend, is flying off here and there, and Star II will likewise be cycling off hither and thither; and so they should be.
Meanwhile I’m available for coffee, events, weddings, light cooking and laundry duties and, of course, endless loo cleaning. Post comfy sofa epiphany I thought: ‘Hang on just one minute- what AM I doing?’ All our lives seem to pass by so very quickly, so I made a pact with myself. While the cats are away this mouse will play – in short – Rebellion.
First stop our Market Town’s emporium of beauty. I don’t remember, as my feet will testify, the last time I had a pedicure. As I reclined there, having the final coat of ‘Tropical Coral’ applied, it just popped out of my mouth: “Do you do piercing?”
I had my ears pierced at Top Shop Oxford Circus when I was sixteen. The girl who did it was no expert with the gun so the hole back and front didn’t line up but sloped downward. It never really healed so I gave up, resorting to the occasional Bette Lynch clip-ons.
So a week later, having paid up front to prevent crying off, my giggly Consultant chum joined me to witness the ritual, I felt more secure with a medic on hand. Although being a Consultant in Sexual Health I wasn’t sure she would know what to do with ear lobes. However with the paper work done and the discreet ‘diamond’ studs chosen, quick as a flash it was done. I was a fully pierced-up member of society!
But do you know, post a quick trip to the chemist to purchase a litre of TCP, I felt amazingly liberated, that well-known post rebellion feeling? The pain of piercing, quick though it was, was releasing and for a moment I understood the whole enjoyment of the pain gained through tattooing…so they say. A tattoo? At 57? Not a chance!
No, I’m working my way up to real diamond studs, same price but look better on flabby flesh.
I didn’t tell The Husband or the kids, happy in the knowledge that I could walk through the house wearing half a pantomime horse outfit and they would still ask ‘what’s for tea Mum’.
It would be weeks before they noticed…or so I thought. Five days later sitting at supper Star II was stunned,
“God Mum, you’ve had a PIERCING!!” Now who would have thought this could be such bad news? I wasn’t sporting a pair of stretchers, tongue or eyebrow studs, (all fine if that’s your choice), just simple tiny earrings.
Then The Husband uttered the immortal words, ‘When did you have that done? Don’t you think you should have consulted the family first’.
That was right up there with ‘let them eat cake’. Stand by Pagans, rebellion starts off small but can grow to revolution!
What next for Sandra Pagan? Leaving my hair to go curly that’s what!
Oooh what a rebel I am!