I don’t care what anyone says! Being a woman is easy! Sexism isn’t real and and the term feminism is just a flimsy soapbox for man-haters to stand on while they spew their man-hating nonsense. Don’t believe me? Well, let me convince you. Below I have used my real-life experiences to paint a picture of what it’s really like to be a woman in a multitude of scenarios.
IN SCHOOL
I’m in class taking notes on comparative advantage. My professor’s eyes land on me a few times as she speaks. She must be zeroing in on me because of the close attention I’m paying. I’m mentally patting myself on the back when she abruptly stops her lecture. Can she speak to me outside? Why, certainly. She stands in front of me and asks the question in a hushed tone. Would I put a sweater on? Dumbfounded, I utter, “I don’t have one.” She thoughtfully offers hers. She explains to me that a few of the male students seem distracted by my breasts. She lets me know how important it is that we don’t disrupt their learning environment. I’m grateful that she disrupted mine so that I could rightly put their education before my own. I re-enter the room wearing her sweater like a scarlet letter. A declaration of my whorishness. A well deserved punishment for having tits.
AT WORK
I walk through the employee entrance of the store and into the locker room. A male co-worker moans as I walk by. “Damn,” he says biting his lip. How flattering. I look great in my dress, he says. That’s nice. I would look better if I lost five pounds. Considerate of him to inform me. I’ll get right on that. Let me start by walking away. Another spots me and greets me. Asks what I did all morning. Oh, I just laid in bed. It was relaxing. He scolds me for not inviting him. He says he wishes he could have been there. I’m glad he wasn’t, but I don’t tell him that. I should probably just giggle. I dare not bruise his ego. I walk into the office for a meeting with my managers. We’re trying to find a solution to a problem. I offer a suggestion.They don’t seem to hear me. I try again. Nothing. Finally, one of them encourages the other two to listen to what I have to say. I repeat. “Hmm,” the two say, acknowledging me before making better points. Points more worthy of consideration. Finally, Howard says, “Listen! Here’s what we’re going to do!” He repeats what I said, but with much more oomph! “Well done, Howard!” Howard is so assertive. He deserves that extra 21 cents.
WALKING HOME
I’m walking down the street and a stranger whistles at me to get my attention. Hey, it works for a dog. Why wouldn’t it work on a woman? Another tells me to smile. Oh, yes. I forgot. A woman must not lead a man to believe she is ever anything but gratified, just delighted, to be in his presence. Another bores his eyes into me, stopping at my breasts, naked beneath my dress. Smirking, he asks if I want a hug. How generous. He must know I need one. It’s so hard to carry these pesky things around. Another screams at me. Yells in my ear and then at my back. But it’s not an intimidation method. No, not an assertion of dominance. It’s a compliment! Another still, reaches out to touch my face and laughs when I pull away in anger. Funny little girl. Don’t you know your body only belongs to you until I want it to belong to me?
HANGING OUT WITH FRIENDS
I’m in a bar talking with a friend. He begins kindly explaining to me how men are only friends with women they want to fuck. Why am I so upset, he asks, pointing out my foolishness, as friends do. There’s nothing offensive about his suggestion that every one of my male friends value my vagina above all else. That if they didn’t want to know what was under my clothes, they wouldn’t want to know what was in my head. That without the possibility of sex, I couldn’t make them laugh or challenge them intellectually. I make a mental note to thank him for pointing out what a silly woman I am for believing I had anything more to offer. He ends the conversation with profuse apologies. He’s so sorry, but he doesn’t want to have sex with me. He wants to make that clear. Needless to say, I’m left devastated.
HAVING AN ARGUMENT
“God, do you have your period?” Who’s silly now, Mister? Of course I do! Why else would I have an emotional response, if not for hormones? Just to make things easier, why don’t we just agree that the only valid feelings I have are the ones you like. We’ll chalk the rest up to menstruation!
ENJOYING “ME” TIME
I’m sitting at my favorite cafe. I’ve got a good book and a glass of wine. I’m rescued from my peace and quiet by a friendly question. “What’s a pretty thing like you doing out alone!” My plan worked! I didn’t actually want to read the book I carried over. But I have to play it cool. Can’t let him know what I’m up to. “I’m not alone,” I tell him, indicating towards my book. My eyes return to the page. I’ve got to make this convincing. “Oh, come on,” he says as he pulls up a seat next to me. “You know you only brought that out as a conversation starter.” He’s figured me out. What a smart man. Now I can put this boring old prop down.
See? Sexism, Shmexism. We’ve got it good.
***Shout out to all of the many, many men who don’t catcall, dismiss women in the workplace, ask if we’re bleeding and assume you’re the center of our universe. You’re doing great at being humans, and on the behalf of women, thanks!***
