I can't control this venomous mood, Roland's male-chauvinistic arrogance makes me angry, it sparks in me a feuding attitude. The way he treats Rosita, akin to a worthless slave forced into obedience school. If she makes an independent move, he suffocates her by tightening the emotional noose. What is he trying to prove?
I can't deter my own vexation, his constant brain-washing methods are offensive, his expert juggle back in time when peasant-minded-men ruled supreme, and women had no rights.
She is his vassal, a pawn, a puppet, the slave who four millennium ago carried granite blocks to build the pyramid of Cheops.
When he wants something he's rarely nice, and when he has had his want, he will dismiss her as if she were at his paid command. What gives him the right?
To ensure his undisputed rule, he his never satisfied; ten, twenty, a hundred times each day, when not whingeing from his sofa-throne, he spews instructions in royal-highness tones:
" Feed the dog, answer the telephone, did you write that cheque; the garden is dry, pick up the mail, take the rubbish out; make me a cup of tea, what food is there to eat?" And when the food arrives, do you think he is pleased?"
She washes, irons, sweeps and never wavers, while his only chore is to unfold the daily newspaper; though he does not cook he dictates how food is placed on the refrigerator shelves, and must oversee how much carpet-cleanser she will need to clean the rug beneath his feet...
Why does she agree?
That is what I see... Perhaps for Rosita and her chosen Master there is a role-reversal beteeen the sheets...
© 2006 Dallas Mariner
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