Is Never Needing Anyone A Bad Thing?

Living in a “no man's” land gave me power.

Photo by George Milton from Pexels

“How wrong is it for a woman to expect the man to build the world she wants, rather than to create it herself?”- Anais Nin

My mother always tells me “learn to do everything so you won’t need anyone” and sure, she might drop the bomb whenever she’s fixing things my father is too busy to get his hands on — like a leaking sink or that bloody heater that nearly froze us to death, Titanic-style — but after a few “I’ve got it” or “I’ll think about it later” from men more interested in their soccer games than their girlfriend, — like a ball can arouse them more than my lingerie can! — I’ve come to terms with the fact that it’s true: if you want something done, you gotta do it yourself.

Mothers and their extraordinary — and rather creepy — ability to be always right, uh?

That is why I rarely get a pizza delivered or never spend my time on Reddit, trying to find the perfect match for my housewife needs — Tinder is quaking! — I usually wear my “big girl” clothes and do things myself instead.
And I love it.
I am my mother’s daughter after all.

This also means I’m the proud owner of a “where all the crap goes to DIY’s” drawer that honestly sees more action than my old, boring underwear drawer — is it too early for a screwing joke now? Or is it too late to save me some dignity?

Anyway, my hands are so used to do things without anyone’s help — all puns intended, yes — that I feel like I don’t need anybody ever again.

A broken cable? I’m already on it. Midnight cravings? Why don’t we make pizza from scratch? Bored of the same pearly white colour of your walls? Give me a bucket of fresh paint and I’m gonna draw the bloody Sistine Chapel.

Can you hear the angels sing?

When I had the magnificent idea to build a custom bookshelf and decided to do it on my own, I almost gave up on my badass feminist badge when a consistent stack of wood boards came crushing on my head.

You would think someone came knocking at my door, checking in, seeing if I was, in fact, still alive — my screams suggested otherwise — but aside for a random text…