After a bunch of revisions... I give up

"The Curse of Eve"

I have been cursed by Eve.

The curse started when the first woman disobeyed God and thusly was sentenced to endure the physiological pangs of womanhood forever. My own curse of Eve goes beyond the monthly cramps and birthing agony. In addition to these afflictions, fate has stepped in and has demanded that my life be surrounded by other estrogen-laden women and therefore devoid of male companions of any sort. In my life, women are everywhere. And I blame Eve.

It started when I went to college, and I joined a sorority. I should have known better, and the curse was about to strike for the first time. In the beginning, it was all sugar and spice. Every night was a giant slumber party with varying patterns of polka dotted pajamas and every morning a cloud of hair spray and top 40 radio blaring in steamed up bathrooms. Girls laughed together, cried together, and ate small portions of sugar-free, low fat ice cream together. But eventually, girls are girls and they began stealing each other’s sweaters and stealing each other’s algebra and stealing each other’s boyfriends. Cliques formed and rumors spread. Some girls drank too many of those sugary colored drinks, came home, and talked about other girls calling them “whores” and “sluts” even though they knew those girls were in the next room. They were mean girls. And there was hair in the drain, and hair in the carpet, and hair on the bathroom sink. There was hair everywhere. I couldn’t escape the hormones or the hysteria or the hairspray. All X’s and no Y’s. All Eves and no Adams.

No boys upstairs. No boys downstairs. No boys on the main floor past ten o’clock at night. One boy came every morning through the back door to fill our milk cooler in the kitchen. I made sure to time the toasting of my cinnamon bagel so I could walk past him and smell his boy-ness and see his strong hands lift the milk high into the stainless steel cases. But sadly he would leave when his daily dairy chore was complete. I would return to a dining room full of ponytails and lip gloss, while Eve stood nearby smirking.

Then, I got an administrative job at a Monastery. I should have known better. At first I was welcomed with hugs and kisses from Sister Teresa Ann, Sister Veronica, and Sister Ida. We had tea together every afternoon and I was permitted to attend daily mass on Thursdays. I fidgeted on the day we read Genesis 3:16; that's when it all started. There were prayers before meetings and prayers after meetings, prayers before meals and prayers after meals. Sometimes they accidentally called me Sister Amanda. The Sisters were loving, and they loved me, especially once it was discovered that I was single. “You never know when you might hear the call,” Sister Teresa Ann nonchalantly told me following afternoon tea while we were putting away the Ritz crackers. Not too discrete, those Sisters. And as much as I loved working with them and drinking tea with them, I did not want to be one of them. Although these women were saintly and pure, they, too, were marked with Eve’s original sin, and my own version of Eve’s curse attempted to lure me into their women-only community.

No men in the chapel. No men in the cloisters. No men in the parlor. There was one man, Father Denny, who was as charismatic as priests come. He was a gentleman and a man’s man, and he was a father. But he was only one in a sea of sisters, and I only saw him at mass once a week, if I was lucky. Again, Eve’s curse triumphed and left me in hallways and offices surrounded by skirts and veils.

Then, I lived at home with my parents and my younger sister. I should have known better. One day that summer my dad, the man of the house and the keeper of the peace, went to work but never came home. No dad in the kitchen. No dad on the couch. No dad at the piano. He was gone, and I think it was Eve who took him away from us.