May the ladies let down their hair.

No thanks to modesty, I am sunburnt. We went to the ladies-only pool party at our director's villa in the country. A place everyone calls 'the farm' but which is really just a beautifully walled cottage with, like, some flowers and a grape vine. Aside from myself and Vanessa everyone was wearing hijab. I find myself increasingly more sensitive about judgments on my womanhood and my laziness, and today was largely about the proud display of babies, cooking skills and god-proof swimwear. Vanessa and I abstained from conversation for the first hour or so, partially because I was still half asleep and otherwise because Vanessa's disgusted by babies. We swam and had a blast playing with the kids when they weren't busy hitting eachother, not sharing, screaming, hitting eachother, speaking in upwards of two languages, not listening, screaming, and hitting eachother. For about a second I tricked them into believing that sleeping is more fun than pretending to sleep. It started out sweetly with three of us cuddling on the same ponge and ended with a struggle to pull the six-year-old's hand off my nose and mouth. All in a days work.
The women however were lovely and did the mom thing where they talk about pre-schools, weather, future vacation plans, the way young people dress, recipes, and sugar substitutes. The girls our age are about to graduate college, are both substitute teachers at the school, have turned down engagement multiple times already and nanny said brood of children. They do not say sarcastic things, they do not curse (see: "oh shit, that's my ass"-Vanessa), they are never shocking. They have beautiful kohl rimmed eyes and head scarves and artfully coordinated tent-like clothing. They are exemplary. I'm not saying that moroccans don't appreciate sarcasm, they certainly do! They love witty banter and inside jokes, it's just not as common with these particular women; they lack irreverence. (In no way does this reflect Marrakshi's in general, as they are known throughout Morocco as "jokers.")
I wore my medina-bought one piece (now infamous, thanks to Kristen), Nessa wore a sexy two piece in a UPS motif and everyone else wore night gowns and stretch pants. I expected there to be more 'letting loose' without the man-folk around, more nudity. But that is because I haven't yet read the Koran; Nudity is right out. I really didn't know about this. I thought the mandatory-panties at the hammam was just for sanitation's sake, but its for God's.

My next few weeks are rife with indecision. While last month I had resigned myself to return to America-For-Good in July, as scheduled, my reasoning took a turn for the nostalgic this week with the encouragement from a few friends and a reminder from the director that the position is still open. I am now at an utter standstill. Two days ago I had all but accepted the position and today I woke up realizing that it's time to go home. There are many factors: education, financial savings, the 06/07 FAFSA, Phyllis Bailey at Depaul University, potential past-times in Tetuan, job ops in Chicago, necessity of social interaction, total disregard for anyone's advice, and my ability to navigate multiple discount airfare websites simultaneously.
This sort of volatility in my decision making is nothing new, I know. So if I by chance ask your opinion, just remember, I never listen to what you say anyway. But expect a bulletted list or spreadsheet.