*note: this is listed as an essay though it is a fictional argument. This is due to what it paints.*
Some day, I'll be woman enough for you to accept me. Some day, I'll be pretty enough to be counted amoung your ranks. Some day, some day, when? when will I be smart enough, rich enough, nice enough, good enough for you?
You think you're so much better the me, moving in your noisy gaggle of brainless, leggy prom wonders. You think your designer clothes, Gucci handbac and facny car makes you so much more of a woman. So, I don't shame my legs, wear makesup or tweeze my eyebrows. So what if I don't watch the movies or listen to pop music. You say you're a woman, but can you bake bread?
Can you change and clothe a squalling toddler? Can you plant a garden as well as you plant kisses or mend socks and fences like your flase promices? Have you cooked stew or soup without the can? You say you're more womanly then me. I say your acceptance and admission into your gay sorority of scyophants is not enough.
Now, if you excute me, my bread is rising, the baby's crying and I must hang the wash to dry. Take care not to step on the freshly planted peas and look out for the fence gate. It's rusty, but I'll get that tomorrow.