Sometimes, sometimes I think I should just leave it all, y'know?

Find some guy who's looking for a wife, marry him, pop out a couple kids, and spend the rest of my life rubbing fingerprints off walls and keeping his dinner warm.

Sometimes.

The life is quietly alluring.

My body is built for giving birth (ignoring the mutated womb): tall, strong, broad hipped, healthy.

If this had been medieval times I'd probably have six or seven children by now.

I admit the idea of being a kept wife is sometimes alluring.

But then, if I had a husband like that, with a nine to five office job, I don't think he'd like me slipping off to flirt with girls at burlesque shows, building my own corsets and reupholstering the couch with zebra print.

Or the secret doors and crazy little passages I fully intend to install into what ever house I settle down in, if I don't actually built the house myself.

Or building my own chaise lounge. Or me wearing a slave collar.

Or wanting money to buy myself a table saw, or a scroll saw, or a small forge.

Or me using the walls as a giant canvas, instead of having them some bland, horrid colour like beige or taupe, then hotboxing the bathroom.

So I usually dismiss that idea pretty quick.

But still, sometimes...It would be nice not to have to worry about career, money, home, life anymore.

.

Rosie.

Before&After