Throcky compared me to Molly Ivins. I did not know who she was, so I had to look her up. She’s funny. If you don’t know who Molly Ivins is either, you can check her out here
I’m really getting sick of these little “in-jokes” about how men don’t understand women. This entry is for those men. Or women. Or whatever.
You know who you are.
If a girl farts in front of you, she’s either going to be very embarassed or it’s not a big deal. If you just got to know her and it’s not a big deal, then either she’s very comfortable with you OR she’s a big slob who farts in front of all people and she doesn’t care either.
For the first six months of our relationship, I had Esteban utterly convinced that women did not go poo.
Ever.
Today, however, we have farting contests. We constantly tease each other about our poo. “My, that was foul, dear, are you sure that you haven’t died?” “Want me to blow you a kiss?”
This is a sign. A very important sign. I know someone at work who has been living with her boyfriend for a year and does not go to the bathroom in their home. If for this reason alone, their relationship is doomed for failure.
This is not to say that you should watch each other poo. There are some boundaries which should never be crossed.
Likewise, bathing suit shopping should be a private affair. Trust me on this one. Dying, pooping and shopping for bathing suits… these are roads to be traveled solo.
Girls are just boys who are subjected to incredibly strict societal rules. We are not allowed to shout, fart, poop, pee too fast, argue, burp, have eye crud, ear wax, scratch, or anything which might be masculine. We are allowed to cry or faint and have babies. In a feminine way.
So what do we want? I of course can’t speak for all women, but I know what I want.
I want people to stop lumping me in a group of “women”. Just because I have a uterus does not mean that I’ll automatically have something in common with another woman other than the hole between our legs and the need to bleed every 28 days. Doesn’t even mean that I’ll necessarily like her.
I want someone to come up with a better bra. The same design since the 1800’s! That’s crazy talk, people! My shoulders and my breasts have nothing to do with each other, there’s no reason that the former should hurt because that latter are so big. And I shouldn’t need to spend half my day either pulling my bra strap down in the back to hoist the girls back up OR fixing straps which have slipped off my shoulders.
I want to be able to have my period in a couple of hours, rather that spreading it out over 4-6 days. I want to go to a salon of some sort and have a woman named Helga push on my stomach and be done with it in one easy albeit messy afternoon. And no cramps. Cramps are bullshit. They serve no biological purpose whatsoever. “Hey, you’re not pregnant! Look at you! You’re not pregnant!” It makes no sense.
I want to get paid what I’m worth. I want employers to NOT assume that because I don’t have a child I will be getting pregnant in the near future.
I want feminism to stop being an ISM. I want it to be LIFE.
I want hair to grow faster in the winter when it’s cold, not the summer when it’s hot. I have to shave my legs every day in the summer and it makes me mad.
I want men to take care of their feet. In general, men’s feet are grody.
I want society to think that a bare face on a woman is beautiful.
I want women to not feel so weird about talking about sex that there has to be a show about women talking about sex. There is no “Sex in the City” about men for a reason.
I want to NOT be questioned by male callers with technical issues who ask if I know what I’m talking about or if I’ve had any experience with this before. Yes. That’s why you’re calling me, bozo.
Likewise, I want Hallmark stores, minivans, Light Salad Dressing, panty hose, and the fact that 99% of birth control is the responsibility of the woman to go away.
I want trucks with “No Fat Chicks” on them to be blown up.
I want readers to finish reading this and not automatically think “Feminazi” or any other slur.
I want advertisers during sporting events to not automatically assume that their viewers are all male. I want the sports bars around here to start hiring male servers.
I want people to offer congratulations to a man when he has a baby. I want the phrase “he had a baby” not seem like a physical impossibility and more like a reality. “They had a baby” should be said rather than “His wife had a baby”.
When I’m assertive, I want to be called “assertive” and not “bitch”.
When I’m sad, I want people to not automatically jump to the conclusion that it’s hormonal.
I want Lifetime for Women to go the hell away.
And I want to stop carrying a purse. I hate purses. I absolutely hate them. But I hate the fact that I have so much stuff to carry that I don’t know what to do with it. I wish it were societally acceptable to have a small pack animal. Like a burro.
