Masculine Momma and a Middle Finger

It was all I could do to contain my middle finger.  I could feel it aching to shoot up and say in one motion what my mouth could not speak.  But I refrained and just screamed it loudly when I got into my car.

I may be a southern woman, but sometimes a well placed curse word is necessary to keep the lava from spilling into your soul.

The gentleman (I hesitate to even call him that) was a nosy neighbor who degraded me in about five seconds.  It was his mission.  I think he seriously woke up that morning and decided that he was going to find a woman to belittle that day.  I was the chosen recipient.  He was a cop.  And I was a woman in distress.  He was not protecting me in that moment.  He was protecting his ego.

I have an amazing dad.  He blows most men out of the water.  But like most fathers, he was focused on providing for his family when I was younger and unintentionally left me feeling exposed and scared when I was a teen.  I didn't have the kind of dad who would open the door with a shotgun when I went on a date.  He was too kind for that.  Or he was gone.  I suppose because of this, I looked for men who I felt would beat up anyone for hurting me.  I succeeded a few times in finding that trait.  But mostly, I just felt alone and degraded.  Much like how I felt when I encountered the cop who was the recipient of my silent finger.

I told a man the other day that he shouldn't mess with single mothers.  We are a special breed of women.  We are heartily wary of almost everyone.  We don't trust easily.  We are feisty.  We are strong (simply because our situation calls for it, not because we necessarily love it).  We have kids who rely on our mental health and our financial stability.  We don't have the luxury that most married women do of falling apart.  Survival for our kids is always the driving force behind every decision.  We cannot afford to be lied to or played with.  We simply don't have the time or the emotion. 

I find that the longer I am single the more I am manifesting what are typically "masculine" traits.  

Traits traditionally viewed as masculine in Western society include courage, independence, violence, and assertiveness.  (Wikipedia)

Check on that.  I have become more confrontational.  I am not likely to empathize with people I consider to be weak.  I am not afraid of much aside from the many things that could hurt my boys or getting hurt again myself.  I am fiercely independent.  And check on the violence...road rage is creeping into my lovely array of personality traits.  Not to mention the urge I have to use my middle finger more often than I would care to admit.   

I don't expect men to protect me or care for me.  (Except my dad who is now brilliant at this in his old age.)  They don't seem to have the desire to exercise this ability.  Perhaps it's because I give off the FU vibe and they are aware of how often my middle finger twitches.  Or perhaps they are evolving into men who exhibit what are typically feminine traits.  

Traits traditionally cited as feminine are gentleness, empathy and sensitivity. (Wikipedia)

So if my situation calls for me to be the "man" of the household, then my chances of pairing with a protector are slim.

But how I would love the luxury of falling apart knowing someone has my back.

In the meantime, I have a middle finger and I'm not afraid to use it.  Unless you're a pompous cop.  Then I'll just yell it in the safety of my car.

Trashy Momma

I was quickly hurrying out of my house, pizza box in one hand and my keys in the other.  I rushed to the huge dumpster at my apartment complex, opened the lid, and chunked in....my keys.

After running through the different alternatives that would keep me from getting inside the dumpster to retrieve my mistakes, I found I had no choice but to climb in.  I live across from a school so there was a line of cars dropping their kids off for school.  A line of strangers that got to witness just how much of an airhead one person can be.

Had I not been on my way to scrub some toilets, I would have been more discombobulated.  But knowing it was OK to go to work smelling a little like trash, I sanitized myself and set out for my destination.

There are times when I feel a bit small in my chosen career.  I clean offices where women are wearing heels and skirts.  I pass people in high rise condos who clearly have desk jobs...it would not be so great if they came to work smelling a little like trash.

Those times of feeling small do not last thankfully.  I love my job.  I love cleaning the heck out of a house that is filthy.  I love making things smell good and creating beauty from chaos.  It suits me that I scrub toilets and take out the trash.

I often forget to brush my teeth or wear deodorant.  It is not unusual for me to have one eye with mascara and the other without.  I have holes in most of my clothes.  My socks rarely match.  My nails are long forgotten because I use them to scrub so polish doesn't last.  I have replaced my foundation with moisturizer.  I go weeks without waxing my lip/eyebrows.  My feet could use a pedicure.  I dye my own hair and cut my own bangs (you can definitely tell that this is DIY hair).  Compared to the woman I used to be who didn't miss her scheduled 2 week nail appointment, I'm a mess.

I suppose I'm a little trashy.

When I was first divorced, I was very conscious of my appearance.  I wouldn't go anywhere after I worked until I had showered and changed.  I wouldn't let anyone I was dating see me without makeup.  I was uber self conscious. (apparently, uber isn't a word according to this platform. Get with it, google.)

One of my favorite things to buy is toiletry products.  Makeup, hair products, skin care, facial scrubs....Sephora is my heaven.  I genuinely love all of that expensive junk.  I suppose that will never change. 

But what has changed is my lack of fear for being seen without makeup. 

I'm a full blown housekeeper sans makeup and a bit of a trash problem.

Oceans of Small Decisions

https://youtu.be/1m_sWJQm2fs







My sons and I went on the Global Wildlife tour with my friend and her son who is 3.  On the car ride there, I realized how close Graham and her son were in their communication and interactions.  Graham is 2 solid years older.  But they behaved in similar ways.  It affirmed my belief that Graham is his own special version of a 5 yr.old.

With this realization came the other realization...homeboy should NOT be in the church service with me.  I fought his inability to behave in church for a while.  I kept telling myself that he is capable of behaving in Mass at school, so surely he can sit still in the Baptist service.

This was a test that homeboy did not pass.

I'm sure my church is happy that I have conceded to the fact that he can't keep it together in church.  The many times he had to get up.  The many fits he has thrown.  All super disruptive.  So momma gave up.  This is a battle I will not win.

I took him to the nursery Sunday and almost didn't go back in with Brady.  But they were playing my song.  So in we went.

That 5 minutes was by far the best moment I spent with my oldest all week.  He snuggled up to me.  And then I heard him singing.

There are so many times I feel like I'm not doing anything right as a mom.  I get easily frustrated.  The boys jump.  Constantly.  Their feet do not stay long on the floor.  I do not handle this constant motion well.  They spill stuff.  Everywhere.  And look at me in fear to see if I saw.  I do not handle messes well either.  I skip reading time sometimes just because I'm being selfish and just want them to go to bed already.  I worry that my bad moments will exceed my good moments.

Like exposing them to good music.  Music about Jesus and love and fear and life.  They know good music.  They know who Michael Jackson is.  And Kenny Chesney.  And Pearl Jam.  And Aretha Franklin, Stevie Wonder, U2...and maybe Justin Bieber a little.  Ok, I may be slightly obsessed with the Biebs.  So they know him well.  But you know, whatever.

Hearing our voices together that day singing a song we both love about Jesus ... Visa cannot buy that crap.  That 5 minutes changed me.  And to think I almost hung in the lobby.  #smalldecisions

This is SO NOT Us

I'm not a huge crier these days...but This is Us brings all the tears to the yard.  Crybaby, crocodile tears where I'm really glad I'm watching it alone because I can Super cry.  Ugly cry.  Noisy cry.  It's delightful.

As much as I love the show, I know it's not reality.  For most.  We don't have meaningful conversations.  We don't communicate well.  We don't hug on cue or fight well.  We aren't cute when we have breakdowns.  We don't have well-timed, witty comebacks.  And mostly we experience our pain alone.

Life is more of a fumbled football or a missed goal.  Mostly we don't get it right.  Mostly we miss opportunities to say what we mean.  Mostly we miss out on genuine affection and timed humor.  Mostly we say awkward things and communicate poorly.

Mostly we miss out on connection.

On the rare occasion that we do get it right, our life seems made.  Sometimes we do connect with others.  Sometimes we do have a witty comeback timed just right.  Sometimes we do hug when we should.  Sometimes our conversations are meaningful and we're able to say exactly what we mean.  Sometimes we are able to be vulnerable and that vulnerability is well received.  Sometimes we aren't alone in our pain.

I have found that those rare moments are the moments which have defined my relationships.  It's what kept me from giving up.  Or holding on longer than I should. 

I can pinpoint moments in each of my romantic relationships that caused me to align my heart with theirs.  In one relationship, it was when I was walking away because I was ashamed of my tears and he chased me, grabbed my hand, and walked alongside me while I cried.  In another relationship, it was being held tight when I realized I was pregnant and scared.  It was a raw moment of genuine connection.  In another, I looked across the room at a social function and found he was staring at me in admiration and telling a colleague how amazing I was.  Another time, we napped on the couch, our faces within inches of each other and our hands intertwined.  One scared me by hiding when I opened the door to let him in my house.  We giggled unhinged. 

Each of these moments caused us to seek out genuine companionship in each other because we got a glimpse of what it was like.  Perhaps there is something more...or so we tell ourselves....so we explore deeper.  Only to be disappointed.  Typically.

When I was searching in earnest for a mate a year ago, I read all sorts of nonsensical material.  "How to Keep Your Man Committed for Life"
"How to Get Any Man you Want"
"How to Act like a Lady but Think Like a Man"
"Why Men Love Bitches"

......and the list goes on......and on.  Our modern society of lonely people is not short on books to read for how to get companionship.

In one of the trite books I read, I remember being baffled by a statement that at the time was something unfathomable for me.  It said, "the best way to make a man want you is to genuinely not care whether he is into you or not."

Duh.  I thought to myself.  Of course.  If I didn't care, why would I have bought this book?  What an asinine statement to make to women desperate enough to have this book as part of their collection. Firm Eye Roll.

But I vowed to work on it.  Like the desperate woman I was who had just purchased said book.

Sometimes, however, you are genuinely just NOT READY for change.  Your brain hasn't endured the necessary steps to get you to the place of wanted change.  Resources for said change haven't emerged.  Friends who are supposed to aid you along in this change are busy.  Experiences haven't yet come your way that would catapult you into said change.  You haven't met the one person that would push you to change.  You genuinely have no choice but to wait sometimes.

After a year, I finally get the statement.  Because I have changed.  I no longer care whether I "get" the guy.  Genuine connection should take more than just a moment.  It should be a string of moments that change how you feel about someone.  It shouldn't be easy.  According to google, the chance of you meeting someone you have a genuine connection with is 1%.  (Everything on the internet is true, just FYI).

It is just NOT us.

It makes complete sense to me why so many relationships fail.  We have settled for the mediocre connections.  We have settled for those who don't quite get us...don't quite respect us...don't quite love us.  And vice versa. 

What the show does portray very well is that life is difficult.  And connections have to be damn near indestructible to survive the difficulty.  Or you just have to be paired with someone who is equally as stubborn as you and will press on with or without connection. 

What it doesn't portray well is that each of the characters in their immediate family found their 1%...

Pause for dramatic effect.

What is fabulously sad is that we are an incredibly LONELY society of people who are FABULOUSLY afraid of genuine connection.  So even if your 1% has come across your path, the likelihood of you discovering this fact is slim because we hide behind walls and walls, GREAT FREAKIN' WALLS OF CHINA of false toughness and illusions of independence. 

And we have a ridiculously low tolerance for pain.

So we choose, instead, to forgo the connection and find it in what is convenient and non-threatening.  We choose, largely, to cry alone.  So we can Ugly Cry.  Super Cry.  And there is no one there to judge our weakness.

I found my 1%...they are 5 and 7...and they are SO Me.

Therapy Session ... at the Dentist?

I have a confession to make.  I am a wary uptown parade goer.

I have tried for years to enjoy them.  I go to a house right on St. Charles Avenue so I have a bathroom, food, and drinks, and a lovely home with a balcony and fenced in front yard to watch the parade from.  I get to watch them from what is essentially like a suite at a sporting event.  Every year I try to dip my foot in the pool of enjoyment along with everyone else.  But every year I leave irritated and exhausted.

I'm so UN-New Orleanian.

I live in Metry...a suburb.  I love that everything I do is within a five mile radius.  My grocery store.  The car wash.  My gym.  My church.  My bar.  I feel settled and at peace in my hood.  The parades here are easier to get to and more kid-friendly.  I can come and go as I like.  I don't have to sit in traffic forever trying to find a parking spot just to walk another ten blocks to get to my destination. 

Maybe it's the expansion of the crowds uptown that I don't love.  I don't know many people.  I'm in unfamiliar territory likely surrounded by people who are also in unfamiliar territory.  It's not my hood.  It's not their hood.

The older I get, the more content I am to stay in my place.  I used to love traveling.  I loved experiencing new things.  I was on a date recently and the dude was telling me all the places he had been recently, his upcoming trips, and all the events he had attended around the city.

"You don't have kids, do you?"  I asked.

The response was predictable.

Being a parent changes you in ways you can't anticipate.  One day you're a carefree, adventurous person who loves going to uptown parades and holding baby alligators.  Post kids, you find yourself in the bathroom at your favorite bar a few miles from your suburban apartment crying because you found out your son went to school without Valentines to distribute to his class and was the only one without.

I went to the dentist yesterday and caused my sweet dentist to worry.  He made me a mouth guard over a year ago and had to make it twice as thick as normal because I grind my teeth so badly at night.  I was destroying my teeth.  And jaw.  Unbeknownst to me, my jaw clicks every time I open it.  It has for a while but I just thought it was something that everyone had.  I finally addressed it on my last dental appointment thus causing my dentist to worry.

"How do you feel, Rebekah?  Like emotionally?"  He asked.

I stared at him blankly, feeling very unprepared to have a therapy session in a dentist's chair. 

"I feel fabulous!" I finally responded.

"And how do you sleep?" He asked.

"Like a freakin' baby."  I responded.

He looked puzzled.  Because the evidence of my stress was in my super, unusually thick mouth guard that will not withstand much more of my grinding at night.  And my TMJ will eventually cause me to be in a great amount of pain.  To him, it was amazing that I wasn't sleeping poorly and wasn't in a serious state of anxiety.  I guess I am that good at compartmentalizing.  I reserve my stress only for nighttime grinding, apparently.  And the occasional cry in the bathroom at the bar when I find out something distressing about my kids.

He prescribed me a muscle relaxer and neck/shoulder/head massages as often as I can afford them.  I clearly am a walking time bomb.  Who knew?  My mouth guard and my dentist, that's who.

So my life is kinda different since I became a momma.  I'm wary of uptown parades.  I grind the hell out of my teeth.  I receive unexpected therapy sessions from my dentist.  I cry in bathrooms when I think about my son being hurt. 

And if I do hold a baby alligator, I will be worrying about the diseases I am catching and whether he has brushed his teeth.

My Friend Anger

"Lack of emotion causes lack of progress and lack of motivation." -- Tony Robbins

My primary emotion lately is anger.  I would much rather be angry than hurt.  Anger propels you to act.  It gives you the fuel you need to conquer the pain that loves to paralyze you.  I have found that hurt doesn't cause progress or motivation.  It causes paralysis.  So instead of the usual tinge of pain I feel when I see an old flame, I just feel anger bulldozing a path in my veins.

It's simply delightful.

I know that underneath the anger is sadness.  But anger is sadness manifested.  It's the not so silent partner that requires you to respond.  It deflects any self blame you feel and rests it solely on the person receiving your anger.  For someone who has internalized every problem in my life and made it my fault, this newfound placement of blame is thrilling.

I can now look at a situation in which I feel misunderstood or wronged and instead of the I-want-to-hide-in-the-bathroom-and-cry feeling, I get the I-have-this-overwhelming-desire-to-punch-you-in-the-face feeling.  One feeling makes you take a break from life and one makes you act.

I prefer the action.

I suppose this is a phase.  Which goes hand in hand with my "I don't give a crap what you think" phase.

I'd much rather be feisty and active than crying and hiding.

So, Tony, I disagree with you.  Lack of emotion doesn't cause lack of progress.  Sadness does.  Anger, however....he's my friend.

Be very careful if you happen upon me in a dark alley....feisty Rebekahs in dark alleys are dangerous.

Apathetic Me

I was loading up my car with my supplies uptown after cleaning a house and I saw signs on a neighbor's house that said, "Smile! You're on camera" posted in multiple places.  I panicked for a minute, like I had been doing something wrong and someone was going to catch me on video.  Then I realized the silliness of this thought and relaxed.  I was torn between being grateful that they had a camera outside in case someone stole something from my car versus the feeling of being violated.

Crazy hair ... just don't care

As a house cleaner, I see the inner workings of people's homes.  It is fascinating the difference between people's public personality and their private one.  Not that I know them privately, but I get a small glimpse of it.  It made me think about who really knows us...what we show people as opposed to the person we are unintentionally when we are intimate with someone.

When I was writing about the personal life of a divorcee, it made me quite uncomfortable.  I knew it would be upsetting to some.  I knew it would outrage others.  But I also knew there would be the few that understood and would be glad someone finally spoke it.  So out of that place, I chose to write about it.  For if I'm behaving in a way that is shameful, I should not be behaving that way at all.  And I've worked too hard to rid myself of shame only to hide amongst it again.

What is it that impels us to pretense?  Why are we so deathly afraid of people really knowing us?  Of the neighbor hearing us yell at our kids?  Why are we afraid of people catching us on camera unknowingly?  Or reading our journal?  Or getting a glimpse into the raw side of who we are simply because we can't control the emotion anymore?  Why do we fight so hard against being authentic?

My dear friend is very sensitive to others.  She can read people well as a result.  But she is also affected by them more easily.  To her, I am insensitive and brusque.  I am affected only by a small handful of people.  I lack empathy.  I can logically understand others, but the emotional side of me doesn't empathize often.

I wasn't always this way.  I believe I must have gradually become that because I was a boss who was frequently berated.  Or perhaps it was when Graham was in the hospital and I cried untapped.  Or maybe it was having my heart broken so many times.  Or maybe it was having to date and finding that rejection is around every interaction.  Whatever it was that created this hardness in me is not going away and prevents me from remembering what it was like to live without it.

There is freedom in having this covering.  It means I most likely do not think much about the opinions of others.  I can logically listen and accept them, and perhaps filter them through what I know to be true of myself, but tears are typically not part of that process.  I remember years ago my sister in law telling me that one of her favorite things about me was that I didn't care what other people thought.  At the time, this was a shocking thing to hear because I most definitely did care.  But I also remember thinking that I hoped one day that statement would be true.

Well, I've arrived.  Or not.  Perhaps I digressed.  Whatever the sentiment is around this, the fact remains.  I largely do not care what other people think.

I instructed my sister years ago to burn all my journals if I should die before her.  She laughingly said, "not a chance.  I'm gonna publish them and be rich!"  The sheer terror of this statement made me sweat like a sinner in church.  Now, however, I'm not sure I would mind. 

I am equal parts sinner and saint.  I am equal parts kind and mean.  I am equal parts considerate and destructive.  My guess is most of us have these dichotomies residing within us.  So why the urgency to hide?

Big brother is watching...whether it's through the eyes of your kids or a camera on the street.  He is watching and we cannot hide.

Warning: For Adult Audiences Only

Dane Cook is dating a 19 yr. old.  She was 18 when they started dating.  He is 45.

This makes me want to throw up.

This used to be an acceptable practice...men taking child brides.  Back when women were commodities good only for child birth, food, and marriage.  It wasn't unusual for a man in his 40s to take a teen bride.  It wasn't considered horrific.  It was the norm. (Side note: this still exists in some societies.)

Now, however, women are equal to men.  In our society, at least.  Or we're supposed to be.  We can buy houses, vote, run for president, choose NOT to bear children.  We juggle careers, school, parenthood, solid relationships.  We do not need a man to succeed in life anymore.  We are pretty amazing.  We have risen to greatness because we had much to overcome.  

I am often troubled by the lack of respect women have for themselves...the lack of respect that I have for myself.  I find that I, too, have bought into the lie that I am good only for sex, child birth and food.  I, too, have made choices based on this limited value of myself.  Being a single woman, this is a tricky line to walk.  In the dating world post divorce, I have often found it to be true that a man doesn't have interest in me unless I am willing to sleep with them.  The thought of waiting until I know someone is rather extraordinary and not at all the norm.  Forget the idea that you wait until marriage to have sex.  That is simply an outdated idea for divorcees...like taking a teen bride.

For all my conservative baptist friends/family, the thought of this is probably appalling.  But they are in marriages and have not had to face this reality.  It's quite easy to judge when you do not have to walk in the shoes of another.  When you don't have to function in the world of dating as a divorcee...when the likelihood of you actually finding another mate is slim you deal with what you're given.  And in our sex-crazed society, sex is a vital part of getting to know someone.  Right or wrong.  It is what it is.  Without sex there is a deficit in your relationship that can only be overcome in the bedroom.  Or so we think.

I have had to overcome this idea that I am good only for sex.  Many times I have cried with my girlfriends about how demeaned I felt because they were the only ones who wanted to know who I really was....they were the only ones who actually took time to get to know me.  They wanted to spend time with me because they enjoyed my brain and my personality.  Their love for me extends beyond my skin.  Which makes it a deep relationship that actually provides connection for my soul.  So why couldn't this translate to an intimate relationship?

I have gone through many different stages of dating since my divorce.  The last stage was earnestly trying to find a partner...someone who got me, who appreciated me, who enjoyed spending time with me.  Someone who was healthy and who had minimal red flags.  I began to see only those who did not pressure me about sex.  I did date someone who fit this criteria and was utterly confused the whole time.  I was in new territory.  I did not know how to get to know someone without sex being a factor.  Because of that, I found new ways to destroy the relationship because I knew it was inevitable anyways...right?  Nothing lasts that I had found.  And the requirements for having a steady relationship are something I don't quite get yet.  And poor guy was one of the first healthy relationships I had experienced...which meant it was a conglomeration of fumbles and failures on my part.  I did not know how to communicate with him.  I had been stripped of the one communication that I was familiar with.  I had to actually talk to him.  I told myself that he didn't really care about me or how I felt, so I chose not to communicate.  I distanced myself from him because I was too raw.  The vulnerability made me scared in a way I hadn't previously experienced.  So I ran from it. My brain chose the flight response as a way of protecting me.  He saw me without my usual props.  He didn't like me so it ended.

Pause for dramatic effect.

As a result, I have discarded the hope of finding someone and have decided to just enjoy dating.  I no longer worry about getting to know someone because that test failed miserably.  It still ended.  I had just given myself more than I usually did in that time frame.  And it still broke my heart.  

So if the results are the same...relationships ending...then why change the behavior?  They say you can't expect different results if you do the same thing.  But I did something different and got the same result.

Which makes me think that perhaps we as divorcees in this current climate do not know how to form healthy relationships with each other.  We have been too hurt.  We are too damaged.  We have kids to worry about and careers to maintain.  Our hearts are no longer accessible to others.  So sex becomes the only way that we can connect.  Or the only "safe" way, rather.

Randall Collins, the great American sociologist who’s been writing on the subject for decades ..., argues quite persuasively that human sexuality can be fully understood only in a social context. Human beings, fundamentally, are distinctly, spectacularly social. Lonely and isolated, we cannot survive, let alone thrive. For us, power and meaning emerge through making connections. Sexual desire, thus, is not chiefly aimed at physical pleasure or the production of children, but at connectedness with others. Sexual pleasure is fundamentally a social construct, an emergent property of social exchange. -- Noam Sphancer, Psychology Today

So if our idea of what is right or normal changes...dating someone who is 19 when you are 45 now is just gross... then that also extends to how we approach sex as divorcees.  Taking that off the table completely no longer works.  It is, in fact, how we interact as social beings who are divorced.

I do not view it as disrespectful any longer.  It simply is.  Period.  It is.  I find my respect not in how others treat me, but how I treat myself.  If I allow myself to be degraded, then I am degraded regardless of the action of the other party.  If I approach it with the full knowledge of what it is, then my dignity is still intact.

But with or without it...my heart is still broken.

(Since I was thinking about my last relationship, I played my Depeche Mode Pandora station...this was the song that played first.  Ironic.  Pause for dramatic effect.)

https://youtu.be/IsvfofcIE1Q

Master and Servant

Depeche Mode

It's a lot, it's a lot, it's a lot, it's a lot

It's a lot, it's a lot, it's a lot, like life

There's a new game we like to play you see

A game with added reality

You treat me like a dog

Get me down on my knees

We call it master and servant

We call it master and servant

It's a lot like life

This play between the sheets

With you on top and me underneath

Forget all about equality

Let's play master and servant

Let's play master and servant

It's a lot like life and that's what's appealing

If you despise that throwaway feeling

From disposable fun

Then this is the one

Domination's the name of the game in bed or in life

They're both just the same

Except in one you're fulfilled at the end of the day

Let's play master and servant

Let's play master and servant

Master and servant

It's a lot, it's a lot, it's a lot, it's a lot

It's a lot, it's a lot, it's a lot, like life

It's a lot, it's a lot, it's a lot, it's a lot

It's a lot, it's a lot, master and servant

It's a lot, it's a lot, it's a lot, it's a lot

It's a lot, it's a lot, it's a lot, like life

It's a lot like life and that's what's appealing

If you despise that throwaway feeling from disposable fun

Then this is the one

Let's play master and servant

Come on, master and servant

Let's play master and servant

Come on, master and servant

Let's play master and servant

Come on, master and servant