When I was a little girl, I imagined myself to be the perfect housewife. The woman who has the perfect hair, smile, and manners. Who gives out the perfect posture and reaction to any event. The one that opens her mouth in an O, with her perfect delicate left hand covering her lips while striking that perfect pose, every time she is surprised. A champ in the kitchen, the best in keeping the house clean, who knows every question her husband asks, and never ever gets angry in public.
Guess what i've become? the perfect opposite.
I have yet to cultivate the virtue of combing. When it's hot, I coil my hair with a pen. My favorite shirt is close to becoming a rag. I have a bad habit of chewing my nails. I pout and my eyes get to open up in a big O --> O.0 , making me look like a scared monkey, when I'm surprised. I've managed to put my mother's kitchen on fire (as for my kitchen, I am cautious, I have a cook -- *evil laugh - mwahahahah!), my room is almost always a mess of books, papers, and lots and lots of scattered pillows. And although I don't put out my tantrums for other people to get a show, i pout, and pout, and pout. So far, I can answer almost all of my boyfriend's questions -- but I get to be called a smartass in the end.
I wonder what went wrong when I had it all figured out perfectly. bleah!
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