I would like Romance for starters, with some Chivallry on the side...

There are so many options, it's hard to choose. Perhaps an entree of Loving Support? But wait....the HotMonkeyKinkySex looks good, too. The Chef recommends what? The Selfless-Wife-&-Mother? Hmm, that sounds fattening. Also, hard to chew. Decisions, decisions.... I'm liking the looks of Partner a la Crime, with a light dressing of Laughter, and maybe a side order of Understanding? You know, that sounds good. I'll wash that all down with a glass of Independence, hold the ice. And, why not? An Orgasm for dessert.

As a result of several conversations with girlfriends in the last few days, I have been pondering the multitude of roles that we juggle in today's dog-eat-dog-but-still-nurture-puppies world. We are expected to seamlessly flow from one position to the next, much like a character from "Chitty Chitty Gang Bang". Breadwinner? No problem. Oh and by the way, when you get home, could you maybe make me a sandwich with that? And while you're at it, could you cut the crusts off for the little ones? And pout whilst you do it all , 'cause that's bringingsexyback, baby.

*sighs*

It's funny to me how desires change. I remember when Destiny's Child came out with the Independence song from the Charlie's Angels movie. To the dismay of my more musically sensitive friends, I hearted the whole I-don't-need-no man-I'll-buy-my-own-Jewels lyrical mess. This was at a time when I was but a poor student, and my ex was the main financial contributor to the household.

The Irony...oh, how she burns.

Much has happened since then. Obviously, the ex is now an ex. I earn my own living, and do so happily. But in a reflective sense, the further I come, the longer the road to fulfillment seems. I want a career, to find my calling and to answer it with all that I have to give. I want to find out what defines me as a person, and to do all that I can to flourish in that regard.

And yet....

I want more.

{Greedy, I know}

This may well set Gloria Steinham's teeth-a-clenchin', but I think I was born to be called out of my name. The word "Mommy" alone makes my ovaries do the rumba. And if my biological clock is ticking, I can only imagine what it must be like for someone who learned to tell time before the 4th Grade {the words you are looking for right now are Idiot Savant. Really.}. Not that I'm ready to answer that particular call. N. told me that she was going to get a plant first and see how that worked into her life. I have killed cacti. Yup, plural. It might behoove me to jump the stop right to CrazyTown and stick a Cabbage Patch doll in a stroller.

But I digress.

Now-a-days, I find myself in a betwixt state of mind, whereby I want to be able to buy my own diamonds, and yet, have them show up in a pretty little box with a card that says "Just because". I know, I know. It's not politically correct, but it's the truth. And I want to be at peace with what I see currently as the conflicting Faces of Me. I'm going to try and quiet the roaring and listen to the embers.

In the meantime.....

I want to be able to make the dinner {sans kitchen fire} and have someone acknowledge the effort. I also want them to do the dishes afterwards, because really? Grey's Anatomy is on, and I'm not your Mother.

Oh, and can I take HotMonkeyKinkySex home in a doggy bag?