Working Mum, or not….? Why are women so judgemental?
While pushing past all the designer hand bags in Hong Kong held by very well preserved, perfectly manicured ladies, usually with huge tits and size 2 waists, … no offence (but I’m sure I just caused it), you do start wondering….. how do these women afford these?! Plus, who is doing their Botox and facials?
How the hell are they or their husbands paying for these bags, and what are they doing to get them?! I have noticed sooo many women having spa treatments (hey mine was a birthday gift from my best friend in the UK)…bloody lovely at the Spa in Repulse Bay. It was great checking into what I can only describe as the Crazy Bear in London but as a Spa place. Stunning furnishings and a row of pedicure spots that look out onto the courtyard which has lounge chairs.
You are offered beverages and unlimited magazines, which is great for someone like me who no longer has time to read fuck all without interruption. As I started to relax and enjoy the calmness of my spa treatment … a gaggle of loud Aussie Birds (before you kick off…I love Aussies, but you are loud…fact) arrived.
I sat there trying to read my American Ok Weekly (the trash in those is just excellent) and what disturbed me was this group of women shouting their conversation. WHY did the whole salon need to hear about someone taking a sexology class (my ears did prick up at this conversation, as did the only bloke there, who as it turns out is not gay)?!
These women (5 in total) rattled on about sex, who was going to do a Masters “because they were bored” and whose divorce has just come through… although she is still living in his House in The Peak with a pool overlooking the city. These sorts of conversations would make me feel like an utter cock. I mean….. really??! A Masters degree because you felt bored??! How are you fucking bored luv? We have so many hours in the day to do something. If you don’t have kids, GET A JOB. If you do but are not ready, do something else like spend time with your children, don’t rely on the helper to be everything because, you are meant to run the house, not her. She is there to Help me, not be my slave.
Ive been stuck in a dilemma since I arrived on this Island of opportunity and decent weather (compared to shitty London). I have realised that we sold our soul to the devil to come here. We had not choice as there was no work in London and our dear home, that we had built for months and months, is being rented to a family who I am positive, is not looking after it as we would wish.
I realise that one day, in maybe the next 5 years or so, we may return to London. I would love to because what I have come to understand, is that with or without the spoils of life, the fast cars (we sold ours the minute the twins were coming, despite my husband holding onto the roof while the new owner drove it away… heartbreaking), the fab holidays, the gorgeous house. It all means shit, if you are unhappy.
You can be, as I m right this moment, in a gorgeous place overlooking the sea. And yet, I miss home. The shit weather, the high tax, congestion charge, gang fights from the local estates ….. but most of all, I miss my life there. My home was always where my family and friends are. I could live anywhere, but without them, I feel redundant.
This is what has made Hong Kong so hard for me. I don’t want to be another gweilo (white ghost and what I find a derogatory term for ex-pats). Where can I meet someone (a girlfriend…withouht the lesbo connotations) who gives a damn about me (and me for them) right away? History with your old friends at home, the old stories we still tell each other and laugh about (I have one where my best mate is trying to pull me off the floor of a random flat in Ealing and i laughed soooo much… I wet myself). You cant buy that shit. These are the same women/girls at my hen do, who knew I couldn’t do shots without puking and understood what I’m about. Love that!!
Now there is a certain snobbery surrounding the ex-pat wives….. usually by other women, and those women who work are the worst. It’s like you are worthless. The way women talk about the stay at home mums pisses me off. Why? Well, you have those women, you know the ones (I used to be one), with the career, AND the baby. How are they doing it all?! Why would they choose to do it all?! I have a Mum like that. She works non-stop (even now), rushes home, cleans, cooks dinner (no cleaner or anything!) and does she get ANY kind of thanks? Nope (she hates everyone for it too). And although she says she doesn’t mind, she is very happy to escape when she visits here. I pick up after her, I make her tea, I do all the small things us Mums wish someone would do for us.
Now…. it took me two whole years to fall pregnant with Itchy & Scratch. Why the HELL do I want to go back to work?! Why am I bullied into going back to work by my own sisterhood?! It pisses me off. I dont want to work. I hate it. I have had a shit job since I was twelve years old. Yes, Twelve. In a salon washing hair. I used to get tips of 50p (cheap bastards). 50p!!! I made conversation, gave head massages, talked about the weather… but still… 50p. Now going back to work is bullshit for me.
A) I hated fucking work. It was shit. Full of politics and back stabbing by women (yes, us women who pretend we are friends and then screw each other secretly). Especially my last job where every woman was as sneaky and corrupt as the last.
B) I hated work!!!! I hated my profession. I hated the salesy assholes who I worked with (& they hated me too). It was shit. The more they pushed me to make a sale, the more I hated them. Assholes. And normally woman.
Now… yes, Im a woman. But why do we have to be soo fucking awful to each other?? Why? I had a boss who threw (and Im being dead honest here) VIDEOS as my head while trying to find something. SHE THREW VIDEOS AT MY HEAD! Cheeky bitch. I was so young and desperate to finish my traineeship (as a dumbass Lawyer) that I stuck it out and kept my shy mouth shut. Why has no one started a blog about assholes we work for?!! Name and shame them!! My job as a young trainee, was horrendous and it was thanks to this silly, mean, racist (she had some choice words for me) cow of a lawyer (based in a firm in Dartford, UK) who did that to me.
So…. Im not going back to work (yet). I like being at home. Cooking dinner for the Captain, looking after the Twins, running the day-to-day crap that flows my way. This in itself IS a job. I take pride in it. Im not ashamed to be some nob who likes to stay at home after working for every company from a hair salon, to a Chef de Rang at Richmond Hill Hotel, Surrey…where I got to cook food AT the table and flambe as my piece de resistance (I did once catch fire to a customers newspapers). I also got handed a number of hotel room keys, which at the age of 17 years old (and a body that rocked…especillay my bum…Kylie Minogue Style), I could have shagged at lest 5 punters every night. But I didn’t. As my Shrink says, ” you know your own worth”. That didn’t appear over night. The pain of heart-break from the good and bad guys led me, onto a path, where I did not give a shit anymore. Been there, done that and shagged it to.
Nothing prepared me for The Captain (AKA, The Love of my Life, my husband and my lover”) I hated him on first sight. Any idiot man who insists on mentioning their ex girlfriend to you on their first date, and telling me how gorgeous she was, is a MASSIVE dick in my book. Why the fuck are you here mate, wasting my precious time!?? I have slept with the strong, the old, the young (never again…they are the worst), the experienced and the downright, experimental (my personal faves as they are usually mentally unhinged and tend to have a certain obsession after the deed). I wanted and prayed (ok my highly religious Grandma prayed) for someone as kind, understanding, funny and loving as me. Her last words ever spoken to me (aside from ‘Tell your Mum to stop bloody smoking!”), were ” Keep smiling, everything will happen when its meant to”.
There is loads to do!! Do I want my own cash? Yes of course, fucking, of course….. but, I also like that I am here to see when the twins wake up and who takes their first step. There is a shit load going on at home. I’m not sat in front of the telly all day eating biscuits. This IS a job. I should be paid for it, and as long as the Captain is happy too (lets face it, hes paying for all the shit in our flat), I’m happy. Happy wife, Happy life (a saying Ive heard a few times now in Hong Kong).
I also recently read, “Not Enough”, about an American ex pat living in Hong Kong, who kills her husband and trys to hide it so she can be with her lover. The Captain gave it to me for Valentines day, although I did point out the symbolism of the book. An American wife, kills her hubby because she wants to return to the USA and has found a lover. Her hubby tries to “fix” the relationship but sounds so unhinged, that killing him was her only option. I read this book in two days. I am mystified by how someone, ANYONE, could do this to the father of their three children. As much as the Captain pisses me off, hammering his skull with a statue until I cracked it open, and then sleeping with his dead body for two days…well, its a little, erm, disturbing. Yes, I hate Hong Kong, but not enough to harm my hubby! I love him. She was apparently infuriated by her Husbands queries on her spending and her lack of being a Mum to the kids, now she had two helpers to look after them. I buy food in Taste Supermarket in Stanley and only spend money on the kids. The Captain get s annoyed as I give a weekly run down of my expense and did I once buy a cheeky pair of shoes?! Nope. He wouldn’t have minded but I spend our money as I would had it been just me, minus the whole brood.
I love being in love with my great Husband, who is considerate, arrogant at times and yet unbelievably childlike (not childish … massive difference), that anything we do, will hopefully continue to work…. in Hong Kong, the “graveyard for Marriages”. Why? Men push ahead in their careers and flourish and women, whoever we were before China, it doesn’t seem to matter. So, what do we do, to count as much as our Husbands? It’s all in our heads really. Hold it up high and remember who you were and are someone too.
You are the Matriarch who runs the whole house. Nothing functions without you. Just remember to take over from the helper from time to time. Ive found myself going for a nap here or there (no reason…just sleepy as I dont sleep at night very well) but I dont ever want my children to call our helper anything other than by their name. I’m terrified they will call her Mum!! My daughters first words were my first name!! Not Mum. My actual name. My Mum later pointed out that I call her by her name, I rarely call her Mum, unless Im trying to borrow Money, jewellery or grab a simple cuddle. This is very scarce in my house as my kids are smothered in discipline and cuddles…. until they bring their first class B or C drug home… in which case I’ll promptly confiscate it, and smoke it later… with plenty of blowbacks to the Hubby. If it’s a Class A, we will be forced to find out who is the dealer…. and make friends with him immediately.