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Succumbing to the style and cycles of the sisterhood.

AUSTRALIA | Monday, 3 August 2009 | Views [1151]

Being given a teddy bear and loaning a doona leads to a crisis of identity

Being given a teddy bear and loaning a doona leads to a crisis of identity

The effeminate air in this house is obviously starting to have an effect on me. I'm not prepared to wear make up, gossip with sacrilegious fervour or watch 'Dirty dancing' on a weekly basis yet. I have developed an unhealthy obsession with Frangelico liqueur and Ferrera Rocher chocolates but. Most disturbingly though, I brought a womens push bike after my more manly version suffered 4 flat tyres in 2 weeks. Even worse is how comfortable it feels to ride. Has my pelvic floor widened to match a womens bone structure? Does riding so erect make me look more like a dainty, bourgeois snob than a hungover slob, riddled with post piss up regret pedalling towards his dish pit? Does the egg shell blue frame clash with my dirty blue work bag?

Such concern only further illustrates my feminisation. That I should care what anyone thinks is a disturbing sign that obsession with appearance is a contagious social phenomena. It would be terrible to want to spend more time than 10 seconds on my appearance because bathroom time is at a premium. Peeing on the back fence is my only option in the long hours leading up to a night out for the girls.

It isn't all bad though, and I freely admit it is a rather interesting social experiment. I'm the lab rat picking my way through the maze of unconsidered issues, unintended meanings and unlikely scenarios. The bike is a worrying sign. I'm still called upon for all brawn related tasks, and I am a long way off being hospitalised for a panic attack as one of the 8 was. Another 2 have made visits to the hospital, while one should have after crashing her scooter 45 seconds after first taking possession of it. Even while writing this, another flattie has just walked in after getting wobbly wheel and tangling herself around a push bike in a rather painful and inglorious fashion. Nothing too serious, but enough flowing blood to feel bad for laughing.

The laughter didn't last long when I realised my worst fears have come true and again proven that fears are a total waste of mental energy. Within a month of the sisterhood first congregating, their cycles are in sync already. And while that could have prompted a public lynching or a return to the hostel for a week, it was amazingly easy to tolerate. So easy in fact that I didn't notice the toilet floor being covered in wrappers too small for toilet paper, the 'Sex and the city' DVD on a constant loop or inappropriate outbursts of emotion.

If anything, I have been more irrational and emotional than what I have seen, heard or testified in court over since consigning relationships to the too hard basket. Numerous factors combined to make me a one man friendship wrecking crew with a few outbursts that would have ended with my nose a different shape if any males had of been on the receiving end. Perhaps I lost it because the girls were doing such a good job of keeping their emotions under wrap. I was just tired while they were in the throes of hormonal agony. Shouting, crying and waving my finger around like it was on fire probably didn't further the houses opinion of males, particularly at that time.

Then my bed bunny and her friend left to cheat death on the Gibb River Road with nothing to protect themselves but blissful ignorance. That reduced me to a puddle of tears that drowned out any issues the girls might have had with their collective concerns. With a three month farm stint necessary to avoid deportation, nothing Broome could offer was enough to coax the girls back. Rachel leaving made me realise how long it has been since I have been irrationally in love. I regret that recognition coming at a time when it is already too late to celebrate it with the recipient of such strong emotion. I also realise my intended audience of said recipient, my parents and two interested friends back home care little for reading a journal closer in content to the lamentations of a lovesick teenager.

So the playboy mansion is down two of its favourites pending a miracle, or another flatmate needing to find a home for a friend or family member. I entreat the universe to ensure any further additions to our menagerie have the same chromosomes as me to stop my XY from changing to XX. There is hope for me yet, as I still prefer the touch of a woman, to having a woman's touch.

Tags: friends, misadventures, sisterhood

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