However, I am beginning to think that perhaps the problem is me, and that I have, during our care-free times as professional expatriates, become one of the dragon-ladies I used to abhor.
You know what I'm on about. You know the type. These 'mistresses of the manor' shuttle around in their chauffeured cars, and sport fancy sunglasses, Burberry or Louis Vuitton handbags, Roberto Cavalli something or other, alongside meticulously coiffed heads of hair, and meet their friends for coffee to discuss the completely useless idiot they hired to drive their car, clean their house, tend to their garden, or take care of their offspring, and whom they probably left cowering in the car, at the house or in the garage crying about the horror that is this poor person's job.
I hate those women. Could I be one of them?
I don't have a chauffeur, I don't own a single loud hand bag, my sunglasses on average cost about $10 USD, I don't frequent Roberto Cavalli boutiques, and my hair points every which way, since my hair dryer is not located near a mirror. Still, I just found myself having a 'talk' with the maid, emphasizing the importance of respect for our things and the house, and how she should not drop the handle of the vacuum cleaner to the floor when she turns the thing off. And following this monologue, I had the distinct urge to complain to someone about her.
I just might be one of those women. Geez, why couldn't my initiation into this society come with the trappings too? Where are my chauffeur, coiffeur, Prada, Cucci, and Cavalli???
Again, not asking much.