Frozen Chicken

A Short Episode in the Day of a Contemporary Middle Class Mother

She dashed in almost out of breath, while clattering her keys, which she found with great difficulty amid the numerous contents of her handbag. Opening the bag was a successful conquest in itself, when carrying all that grocery. And off she goes, rushing into the kitchen and dropping all those bags (keys too). She sways hectically to take out everything she needs from the cupboard while putting on her apron. She then swerves to face the sink, where she had left today's main course to thaw.. a frozen chicken.

A gaze of frustration coats her tired eyes as she examines the chicken carefully. "This should take some extra minutes" and time is her worst enemy. She quickly puts it under running water imagining the impatient diners and how they would react when they realize that their meal will be late again. It's not the criticism that worries her (although she's pretty sensitive to it), but she really hates the looks of disappointment stabbing her from those three pairs of eyes: her husband and two children.

Here comes the worst episode of the process: extracting the chicken guts. Although she has done that hundreds of times, she just can't help being disgusted. She can't get rid of these hateful movements inside her stomach every time she digs in with her fingers to pull out those sticky inner parts. Their sight and texture make her want to throw up several times, which she suppresses by swallowing saliva. She was always keen to work on this latter element (texture) by wearing a pair of plastic gloves, but her final pair was destroyed last month and she keeps forgetting to buy herself a new one.

"Ugh! My God!" It is at this moment that she has the worst feelings of all. She, the respectful Editorial Coordinator of a scientific periodical, spends hours of her life removing chicken guts! "What a pathetic double life!" Well, her prestigious job doesn't pay as well as it sounds, not enough to get assistance with domestic chores. She can only afford one weekly visit by a reckless maid, who should rather make a living out of inventing excuses for not showing up. But she must endure her, or else..

She, the woman who leads a team of scientific researchers.. She, the perfectionist, who doesn't have any room for inaccuracy or tolerance for errors.. She, who is feared by everyone working under her supervision.. She is compelled to bear with the recklessness of this illiterate maid, the arrogance of the Bawab who declines from helping her unless she pays him like other neighbors in the building do, the looks of the greengrocer who doesn't like her way of debating over prices.. the rudeness of many people who are socially and intellectually far beneath her.

She has always been a serious hard-worker. However, in the past she used to be driven by passion and zest for life. Now.. Now?.. Now!.. She doesn't know what to call the force behind her consistent dedication. She had always been a brilliant student. She was also talented in arts, specially painting. But her father insisted that she should join the Faculty of Science. Still, she had the dream of once having her own art exhibition: a postponed dream. She excelled in Biology, and upon her graduation she applied for a scholarship abroad. But she had to get married. Hence, post-graduate studies became her second postponed dream. She finally got a job offer at a well known lab, but its working hours didn't appeal to her husband who couldn't imagine the idea of a wife arriving home after her man. She should be the one waiting for him, not vise versa. Her current job was a perfect settlement at the time. Having huge ambitions concerning her career, she thought it was the first milestone, but somehow it turned out to become her last stop.

What's the use of wings if one is incapable of flying? Dream after dream she kept frozen for years. And year after year those dreams moved further and further away from her. Talent has faded, passion for study has extinguished, and ambition has become pointless. Yet, still she holds up a good posture, pulling it together, and doing her best to show that she deserves to keep this job.

Anyway, here she lands after a tiresome day at work.. battling with her chicken.. thinking how she could possibly satisfy all her diners! Her husband likes it boiled with lots of soup, while Ramy likes it grilled, and Shady likes it KFC style. Well, no matter what she does, at least two of her diners will be left unsatisfied; not to mention the bad evaluation she would get for making their hunger last about an hour longer. They too judge her performance, and this one comes first on their list. Other things they tend to consider as part of their existing environment. The clean ironed shirts, the new bed sheets, the perfectly organized rooms, the fridge full of cold drinks and snacks.. etc, are all there as a matter of fact. It's like Mother Nature has equipped the world with those natural resources. For instance, they never saw how this disgusting frozen chicken gets transformed into the hot delicious serving in their dishes.

She had tried her friend's advice of cooking early in the morning, but it was a disaster. Not only did she ruin three meals in a row (being overcooked or burnt) , but also distracted her dear sleepers; although she was keen not to use any of the noisy machines in her kitchen, which of course meant longer preparation time. She can't afford the luxury of screwing up, and certainly not this time, not their awaited meal. She has to rush, rush, rush around the clock. She doesn't want to face those eyes pointing at her with blame. She desperately needs, even for once, to shake that horrible heap of guilt off her shoulders.

Everybody wants Supermom, but Supermom simply doesn't exist.. except in those silly TV commercials where you find a pretty, slim, elegant, ever-smiling lady, serving her family an average of ten colorfully decorated dishes while managing to keep her freshness and full make-up. It is as if this magical cube of chicken-stock or the genie in the bottle of oil is the secret behind her happiness. Now, what's her excuse for her messed up appearance and the gloomy tiresome expressions on her face? She's got all she needs in her "kingdom", along with all those noisy machines which her grandmother would consider as miracles. Why is she always exhausted and impatient?

She knows the answer. It's simply because this woman on TV wasn't exposed to the steam and heat of her little kitchen. She didn't contribute anything in the making of those ten or twenty dishes. Her job is merely to put them on the table while smiling to the camera. Where was she before that perfect shot? Oh, she was at the care of the stylist and make-up artist preparing her on the air-conditioned set. That's her job.. for which 30 seconds of fake smiling can earn you thousands of pounds! Then every REAL mother rushes to buy the product, believing in her turn that if she owns this bottle of oil all her problems will disappear. Grabbing the bottle from the shelf at the supermarket will give her moments of being the woman on TV. Short moments of victory are all she gets, before realizing that her world is all the same. However, she still goes to purchase the same product again and again, just for the sake of these stolen moments, when she actually becomes the woman on TV.. even if that means that she would continue to be frozen within the frame of a less-woman and a less-mother.

She reaches for the salt to clean the chicken skin. As her fingers feel the smooth skin under the coarse grains, it suddenly hits her that she has forgotten to set the appointment for her depilation. Speaking of a "less-woman", this will really cause her unneeded embarrassment. She remembers the fat Om Ibrahim, who visits her twice a month for "sweet". Of course nothing is sweet about the process apart from its name. It's like plucking the feathers off this chicken, except that it doesn't experience the pain she undergoes during and after the process. She has to yield her body in front of Om Ibrahim for an hour of consecutive painful streaks, until she is totally sleek and smooth.. like all women. That's all the beauty care she gets. Everything else she does herself with the limited time and money she has. She no more enjoys the time she spends doing her hair, nails or make-up. For her, it is precious time wasted. She would rather rest or spend some time with herself. Nonetheless, those practices have become part of her daily routine, a necessity for maintaining her image at work.

She is startled by the door bell. Her husband has successfully managed to maneuver his way through traffic to pick up the kids from school and come back home that fast! It's time to put her chicken into the pan.