Are we not men?
No, we're not.
And that's just the way I'd like to keep it.
This particular frustration of mine is so deeply rooted that when I come across an objection to femininity, it sets about an internal fury that threatens the otherwise quaint manner I carry myself in.
Whilst flipping through 24 hours last Friday, I came across an inane article regarding Twilight.
Someone wrote an article about how helpless Bella is as a woman and what a terrible role model she is for young girls.
Yes, my eyes hurt from rolling. It's a book. Even more so, it's a romance novel. The general, mundane, true-to-life way in which women keep a man's world together isn't usually the premise.
An even deeper response was to knock the lights out of the girl who wrote the article, and the UVic gender and politics professor who also gets paid to spout off at the snout.
Oh, and the UBC professor too when she says, "He's not just rescuing her emotionally, he's also rescuing her economically. It's never just a matter of love. It's also a question of money..."
Mary, Mother of God, woman studies.
Lovely Ivory Tower you've put yourself in, the view looking down on us must be incredible.
What is it about girls who attend a woman studies class getting a hate on for their own kind?
How dare you tell me that I can't dress in revealing clothing, wash the dishes, tend after my man and produce an image of womanhood worth emulating?
How dare you tell me that I can't, with a clear mind and high self-esteem, lust after a male suitor's attention, get excited about his domineering disposition, put in my place once or twice and ask for more?
Why does it never occur to you that we enjoy some of these stereotypes? You mean to tell me you don't think any one of the suffragettes didn't like a good spanking in bed? Please.
I don't mow the lawn. I don't change my own oil. I haven't a clue how to fix a computer and my brain will literally shut down if you attempt to talk to me about sports.
I prefer to not break a nail and putting air in my tires is not the kind of dirty job I'm interested in. And did you know, I even have my very own little bank account! The shock.
Docile. Naive. Helpless.
Not general terms used to describe me, or any other females I surround myself with, who I gather enjoy a shopping expedition or feast on bonbons when the situation arises.
The world is made of shades of gray, my dear feminists. Which means I could clean the house wearing only heels and an apron and still have the capabilities to read a book and stand up for myself.
I will exercise my right to fret over a potential mate's phone call, just as much as I will exercise my right to reject the throwaways.
While this may seem like games to you, there's only so much fun this world offers. And I prefer to play mine in pink frilly underwear.
The next time one of you militant females see a woman engaged in behaviour you'd like to label weak, pathetic, helpless you may want to remember the dictionary also includes words like paradox, dichotomy and best of all, variety.
