Inescapable Femininity

Preparing in my head for all eventualities of living on an all guys floor, I had assumed that plans for sleeping late would be ruined on occasion by the manifold audio and visual performances specific to my gender. However, of all the things I expected to accompany my return to collegiate consciousness, or, to be more exact, rip me unhappily from slumber, was the sound a hair dryer. Of course, growing up in a house with three women had instilled in me certain sleep-defense mechanisms, given I understood the nature of my environment. So, with my extensive background in unpleasant beauty-machine wake ups, it may seem strange that the sound of so staple a tool in a woman's repertoire would cause me any form of surprise. In my defense, I was not expecting any tool bearing any remote resemblance to anything in a woman's repertoire to find its way into my dormroom. It seems that hard as I try, I will never escape femininity.