It was at the tender age of five that I inevitably took my first step towards conformity - it was on this sunny day in Santa Paula that I became a shopper in the vast world we call the grocery store. I don't remember this grocery store being too big or having a wide variety of groceries; the only thing I do remember was the Cheetos and Mexican bread I would stow in my miniature (what seemed like normal-sized at the time) red and yellow grocery cart.

It all began with that miniature red and yellow grocery cart.

What seemed to be a pleasant, "fun-for-the-kids," shopping mechanism, might have been more than just a shopping cart - what it was, I now realize, was the world telling me to buy groceries. It was the world registering the typical "norm" in my instinct; it was this role that would lead me to become a shelved product in this grocery world of consumers. I was born to buy groceries (or rather, I was born to become one).

Sure enough, I have seen men with shopping carts, as well; shopping carts full of steaks, lighter fluid, and beer, but shopping carts nonetheless. Simply, what I am trying to say is that since I was young, it was always the world telling me who I was destined to be - telling me who I should be.

Much like five-year old boys shave in the mirror with their father - naturally, my five-year old self emulated my Mother. I emulated my Mother, with a shopping cart at hand - however, it was never limited to grocery shopping, but baking was inevitably brought into the mix, as well. Why do you think the Easy Bake Oven was invented? More importantly, why do you think it came in pink? Apparently, I was born to bake, too.

My Mother warmly recalls a time when I even aspired to clean for a living. She sighs as she retells the story to family and friends,

"There was a time in mija's life.I think she was about five, that she used to tell me 'Mommy, I want to be a maid when I grow up.'"

I'm glad time knocked sense into my feeble five-year old mind. There's more to life than cleaning, but I suppose at age five that's all there is - a pink Easy Bake Oven and a feather duster. I was born to clean, too.

I, not Tanya Sarmina, but I, Tanya Sarmina, a victim of XX chromosomes, was born to buy groceries, bake, and clean. This was my destiny; keyword: "was."

Betty Crocker is a woman; even Mr. Clean looks a little fruity. It is generally known that men barbecue and Women make the potato salad - this is conformity at its best. And it's at the age of five that I relented to this credo - I helped buy the groceries. I was a "woman" in training.

But somewhere along the way, a change of scenery occurred; it was at this point, that I led my grocery cart down a new aisle - aisle six, to be exact - it was in this aisle that "Divorce" was freshly stocked (but for the record, I didn't mind much).

It was at the tender age of six that I left my male-dominated home; I left my Easy Bake Oven there too. It was at this point that I began my real training - as a six-year old Woman. This "real" training didn't involve pink Easy Bake Ovens.

I began to stumble upon a new perspective in aisle six of the grocery world - it was during this transition that the "KISS THE COOK" BBQ apron seemed more appealing than the plaid kitchen apron. And although the plaid apron held many hues in its stitches, there was no boldness; there was no power that exuded from its threads - no power compared to that of the bold lettering of the BBQ apron. The BBQ apron demanded the kiss, while the plaid apron never even asked.

Rosie the Riveter never would have asked for a kiss; just like she never asked "Can we do it?" It was through my own Rosie that I found the fuel to my power and strength. Someone I grew to know as "Mom," was my Rosie. My Rosie was the prime example of a woman who wore a BBQ apron.but who grocery shopped as well.

Year after year, aisle after aisle, it was Rosie that broke my ties to conformity - it was she who grocery shopped, but relented to becoming a grocery herself. In the grocery world of shelved products - shelved people - my Rosie was never consumed by its conformists; and twelve years later, I realize that neither will I.

As I led my grocery cart down each new aisle in my life, the line that separated the power of man vs. the power of Woman was not only crossed, but had long ago been taken to check-out. As I reached the end of each aisle, I became closer to what a real Woman should be: a BBQ apron-wearing grocery shopper. There are only two letters that separate Woman, from "man."

It is through Rosie and through my trip down the eighteen aisles of this grocery store called life, that I have ultimately found my place in the world - and whether I was born to buy groceries, to bake, or to clean, I now know, that I have the ability to do all those things, and a hell of a lot more.