Maeve’s about to catch me in the act of a horrid deed.
Maeve: What you got there?
Me: Knitting Needles.
Maeve: Planning on killing someone?
Maeve: Come again?
Me: (mimicking the motion of knitting) You know knit one, purl one, repeat, and WA-LA! You have a beautiful (well darn near it) garment.
Maeve: You’re kidding, right?
Maeve: Ugh, you’re so. . . .
Me: So, what?
Me: (A bit stunned)
Little background on Maeve, she’s a pro-woman, ‘I have a vagina so you better respect and listen up’ type. Her major? Rubbish and her minor, women’s studies. We’re friends, though, so I live with her in an understanding way.
Here’s what I don’t understand. Domesticated? Do you envision what I do when I heard this? Yes I’m seeing a feline running around my house, secluded and forced to conformity it neither wanted nor asked for. You are comparing me . . . to a cat. Yet you sit (by you I mean Maeve and others like her) on your throne and tout that ‘We are women hear us roar’. We need to empower ourselves. We need to take bake what is rightfully ours, equality . . . Blah, blah, blah.
Tell me something, though, how are you helping to empower me, let alone women, by branding us domestic. So I knit! So I like to bake and watch Regency costume dramas! So I endeavor to one day be a wife and mother! By no means should being labeled domestic become necessary or feel like such a slap in the face, but it does. Keep touting ‘Femme Fatals’, you’ve yet to convince me.
I see the look in your eyes. It is borderline spit venom with a hint of hatred. You see my history all lined up for your amusement. Here’s a girl who hates feminism. Hate is a strong word.
My mother took me aside, one day, years ago in my youth and proceeded in my upbringing. She proclaimed to me the evilness of feminists, right up there with all those juicy four letter words. Then she forced me into dresses and pearls and sent me on my merry way. No! Don’t be absurd!
I don’t believe feminists are evil. Misguided? Yes. Too loud? Perhaps. Selfish? Definitely. I mean, we’re human, we’re born selfish, but after reading a preliminary article to this new venture, I’m stuck hearing one word loud and clear. Selfish.
September 2010 Good Housekeeping featured an article that had originally appeared fifty years prior. Betty Friedan’s precursor article to The Feminine Mystique, Women Are People, Too! A friend provided a copy of the republished article when they found out about my “little” study.
Rather than go on heatedly for several paragraphs, I’m only going to list a few bullet points. The article itself is only two pages.
- As I said before, selfish is the word that comes to mind. Sprinkled, sort of sugar coated, throughout are the declarings of ‘I’ deserve, ‘I’ need, ‘I’, ‘I’, ‘I’, me, me, me. Bleck! Get over yourself, women. If you’re lost, perhaps you should spare everyone the hurt and not have married. I’m not even married yet and I know that marriage can’t make it, if you make it about yourself.
- The article felt short. In that Ms. Friedan had begun to make a point and quickly wrapped it up, leaving thoughts unfinished. Perhaps she had always intended for the article to wet your appetite for her book.
- One of the four responses, printed along side this article from the time it was originally published, were negative. Equal, hmm? She says it best, “At home I’m my own boss.” Think about that next time you have to cow-tied to the stupid decisions your boss is always making (man or woman).
I know many out there are not likely to appreciate or even desire a biblical reference, but I’m likely not to care. Women should try reading Proverbs 31 when they are moaning and groaning about fulfillment. Which this article is annoyingly repetitive in mentioning again and again.
“She can’t live through her husband and children. They are separate selves.—” Since when? “She has to find her own fulfillment first.” Again I say, looking for fulfillment? Try reading Proverbs 31 or even considering a less selfish view of this sacred union you willingly chose.
(Clipart found on ClipArt ETC.)