transretrogurl

Yes, it’s been a while. I have a decent excuse this time, not that I do normally; I managed to do the Night Shine walking marathon for Cancer Research (did it in 6 hours 30 mins as well, for 28 miles, which is pretty good speed). So my concentration has not been on the softer side of things.In fact, looking at the blog I’m at least three sessions behind in terms of writing up the fun fashions of them, so I need to get back in the groove of it all.

However, before I start talking about a cute little housewife look I did, I need to tell a little horror story. For those who are squeamish, I’d suggest jumping over the next couple of paragraphs. In fact, I’ll do them in bold so you know when to open your eyes. Oh yeah, it’s about eyes…..

So, I have a think about my eyes. I really start to panic when someone is close to them; this makes make-up sessions with Cindy kinda hilarious in a ‘screaming inside’ way. Cindy is used to it now, she knows the minute she gets the eyeliner out and asks me to ‘look up and keep your eyes open’ that my eyes are going to roll back in my head and I will be blinking like I’m the star of Clockwork Orange. I just don’t like things close to my eye.

Well, I finished the Night Shine marathon at 3:45am. It was quiet; they had set the marathonners off later than normal so all the half-marathonners and 10k’ers had already come through the finish, so I hobbled in by my lonesome, got interviewed on TV and picked up my medal. Then back to the hotel for a glorious, but short, three hours of kip, before getting up at 7:00am to head to Euston.

I got to Euston with plenty of time before my train and decided to get a Starbucks Coffee and, hmmm, Marmite and Cheese panini (yeah, I’m a lover not a hater when it comes to Marmite). I sat on the new seats up above the bland and tedious open area where everyone stands cricking their necks looking for the inevitably late announcement of their platform. And while I nommed my Panini and sipped my coffee my left eye started to itch….

By the time I got home the eye had got really scratchy, but I just put it down to sleep, or lack thereof. However I woke up in the middle of the night with water streaming from my eye and a real sensation of pain. I left it for a day but then decided to get an emergency appointment with my optician.

I have mentioned I hate things near my eyes, right? Well….. Turns out I’d managed to pick up a tiny fleck of rusty metal while doing my marathon. Right in the centre of my cornea, just over the black part of the lens.

So the next thirty minutes were a hysterical exercise in trying very, very hard to be somewhere else while the optician administered anaesthetic drops, and then used a bent hypodermic needle to scrape, and I mean scrape, the piece of metal out of the surface of my eye, along with some flecks of rust. It was………interesting. In a screaming inside kind of way.

Anyway, long story not short enough to save you nightmares, the metal got scraped out and amazingly no redness in the eye, although I now have an allergic conjunctivitis reaction going on; for two days after the ‘fun’ both eyes were scratchy, partly due to my over-active imagination thinking there were nuts and bolts in there, and having gone back to the optician I now have drops.

Luckily my next, and long awaited session as I planned it as a ‘thank you’ to myself for doing the marathon, is in a matter of days. At least Cindy and her eyeliner is a lot more fun than a, well, won’t go there, go read the bold stuff above.

Anyway.

Back to the femm stuff! It’s more fun and way less nightmare inducing. As part of the session before the session before last (as I said, I’m way behind) I picked up at the very last minute a gorgeous swing dress from Collectif. I like Collectif stuff a lot; I’m not entirely sure of their target customer base as some of their stuff is gloriously modern/stylish, some is gloriously retro/vintage and some is, well, almost purely TV fetish (I’ve put a load of piccies up before of various outfits – the see through pink skater dress, the Wizard of Oz two-piece set with the lovely white collar and blue/white check, all of which are delightful but I’m really not sure what daytime activity a normal woman would be doing that would justify those outfits).

This one was lovely; wide collared, button up, flowing skirt, the works. At a previous session Cindy had been nice enough to let me pose in the kitchen, which I really loved as it added an extra spice of sauce to the pictures. Yes, it’s an old fashioned and hugely misogynistic mindset to think that a woman should be in bound to a kitchen like an indentured servant, but that was the way people used to think pre-feminism and for my particular likes and urges it’s a lovely idea to be that woman.

It’s one of the things I love most about this whole chemical imbalance in my brain that makes me want to do this kind of stuff. My life has been a long slog of toxic masculinity made even more difficult, from my perspective, by my internal chemistry, sense of empathy and yearning to not be a neanderthal, woman-obsessed (in the other way rather than my way), sexual-fascist.

For me the role of the housewife is deliciously exciting. The idea of focussing only on tidying, cooking, caring as opposed to hunting/gathering seems, well, more right for me. Yes, there’s a slight sadomasochism to it (not going to admit that for a long time the idea of being forced into the role didn’t play a huge part in personal night time fantasies) but that’s not the whole of it.

I love seeing myself as a housewife. It gives that little spark in the brain; that *can’t* be me in the apron, fifties dress, petticoat, heels doing, well, woman-y things, can it?

I’ve held back from putting drab pictures on here (and you can breathe a sigh of relief, I’m not going to now) but drab me is almost, in a nice way, diametrically opposed to femm me. Drab me is a hyper-over-achiever, workaholic, person who has absolutely no way to enjoy himself. I am literally never happy in male form; I’m not naive enough to think that I’d solve it all by transitioning, I’m one of those throwbacks from the 70s and 80s that is defined by my miserableness (they used to be called Goths). I’ve just taken it to the n’th degree.

So Sarah, or rather ‘other me’, is the happy representation of the thing I am. She has the fun. She smiles.

And one of the biggest thing that makes me smile is the housewife fantasy. It’s just one of those things. I can easily imagine myself doing the role full-time (not entirely sure I could find someone who would match my current salary but you live in hope). It’s one of those places I go when my mind is feeling dark and I want cheering up. I could be a housewife, easily; I’m obsessed with tidiness and actually, don’t tell anyone, get a little thrill from washing up and putting things away.

Chuck in a gorgeous Collectif day dress like the one in question and, sigh, there’s the dream.

I play the lottery. Yeah, I know it’s insane and all that, but just the idea of winning a huge amount of money gives me thrills; not for the riches thing as, spoiler alert, having a huge amount of money doesn’t make you happy (quite the opposite; people don’t realise how much of our life is based on the potential of getting things – when you are rich there’s no drive, everything feels false and valueless. Having to save for something gives you an understanding of that thing’s worth and you cherish it more. There’s a reason a lot of rich people are patently unhappy, depressed and unpleasant). I just dream of buying a house, converting it to a 1950’s living space, and disappearing into the role of housewife permanently.

Yes, I’d probably hire a hunk to play the husband because obviously the best fashion accessory would be a man to take care of but, again, that’s for another blog post, probably after alcohol, before I pick that pink coloured scab too hard.

Anyway, apologies for starting with a horror story but, being honest, it’s a lot of fun to tell people that one and watch their reactions. Plus my inner voice might stop screaming sometime soon as it’s still pretty freaked out by it all. A good session of housewife posing and the like will put me straight.

Stay beautiful and indulge yourselves whenever you can. We’re only here once, enjoy it.