I had nothing but good intentions when we first moved here. I was going to amaze with my cracking culinary skills, real food too not all this Turkish stuff day in and day out. I was going to make lemon meringue pies, electrify the family tastebuds with my beef wellington and delight them with my knockout gnocchi. I brought at least 10 cook books with me including a Turkish cookbook – how could I go wrong? I also intended to keep the house spick and span. I was going to iron my sheets (my mum used to do that). I was going to dust away the dust bunnies and my home was going to look like it had come out of a Better Homes and Gardens catalogue – after all I did have a lot of free time.
Good intentions mean shit when you realise that you can’t cook and you hate cleaning. I was not designed to be a housewife but even more troubling is I was definitely not designed to be a Turkish Housewife! They put the super size into every meal and super freak into their cleaning. Who needs to be like that anyway?
The other morning my teyzer (aunt) arrived as I was making breakfast and she gave me a lesson in boiling eggs. Truly. It’s a feking egg for Christ’s sake, “how hard can it be?” Well it seems I have been doing it wrong for all these years so I sat back and let her boil my eggs (that sounds a lot dirtier than it should). “Ello darlin’, come here and I’ll boil ya eggs for ya!” After she boiled my eggs she showed me how to cut up a cucumber. Yes really.
And it is not just my cooking skill that requires lessons on how to be a better Turkish housewife. More than once I have had my sister in law turns up uninvited to clean my windows because she could see the hand prints from her home. Really? I have also had my neighbour come knocking on my door to show me how to do my laundry as my washing drying in the sunshine did not look clean enough from her garden. Um, thanks.
Well it seems that I will never make any of the ladies in the village happy with my housewife skills. Frankly I am surprised that they haven’t taken The Turk aside and given him a speech about how bad of a wife I really am.
“Maybe they have?” questions my inner demons.
Well maybe I don’t care!
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