It really shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone that I am pretty anti-feminism. Or, I guess I should say that I am anti- whatever feminism has morphed into in the past few decades. I do believe that women should be EQUAL. If you want to go to school, great. If you want to go to college, great. If you want to be a lawyer, doctor, president, or CEO- Great. If you want to be a mom, a wife, a cashier, or a nurse- Great. I think that everybody should be able to do what they want with their lives (within reason!). This weird hybrid that the feminists have created where men are shit and women are almighty is wrong. WRONG. Men are not stupid..
If you will remember correctly, women didn’t have rights for hundreds of years and men survived just fine. In reality, if you look at where the country is and how the world is functioning, it has really gone downhill since women got rights…Just sayin’.
I have a few career oriented friends who say that when, or if, they get married they will be the bread winners and their husbands will stay home. I think that is great! If you have a relationship where the man wants to do all the housework and child rearing then go for it. But, lets be honest, a lot of these “career oriented” women will end up not getting married, not having children, not doing anything except striving to break through the, so called, glass ceiling. Spending their entire lives trying to prove that they can be right up there with the big boys. These are the women who will be 40 and 50 years old, realizing that their biological clock has stopped ticking and the time for children has come and gone and they will remain childless. If that is what they wanted, then that fine. But, for a lot of women, that isn’t what they wanted, they just kept putting it off until it was too late.
Not only are women now ashamed and embarrassed to admit that they would rather stay home and raise kids, but they are also stuck trying to function in today’s world where men are borderline rude to them for fear of being assaulted by some crazy feminist.
A perfect example: Yesterday, Wonderful Husband asked me to take his work coveralls to the laundromat. I normally do them at home, but he had been on a particularly messy call and they were covered in grease and sand. I packed up Little Darling and wandered off to the nearest laundromat. Laundromats in general are scary. They are full of shady characters who have a tendency to leer at you while you try to fold your undies and wrangle wet clothes into a dryer. I used to go to the laundromat when I had my first apartment which didn’t include laundry. It was then that I vowed every future apartment would have a washer and dryer inside. I was lucky that my local laundromat was 24 hours and I could do in the dead of night, be the only person there, and watch whatever I wanted on the free cable. I was not so lucky yesterday, I had to walk into the dank, stuffy building with Little Darling on my hip and a garbage bag of dirty clothes in my hand. I scouted out the washers and saw a row of regular looking washers. I did a circle of the entire place checking it out to make sure it was safe. There were lots of fat men, a few greasy girls in brightly colored pajama pants, an old couple quietly folding their clothes in the corner, and one muscular kid who seemed just as out of place as I was. I looked around for a place to sit Little Darling while I loaded the washer. There were only three chairs in the entire building and each one contained a very large, very sweaty man who was staring directly at me. I smiled at them, trying to be friendly, and carefully stuffed the clothes into the washer while LD grabbed at every piece I pulled out of the bag. I dropped in my quarters, added my detergent, and closed the lid. The timer said 28 minutes. Surely we can survive 28 minutes, I will just find a place to sit down and we can play. I glanced at the men again. They glowered back at me. I spent 5 minutes shuffling LD back and forth from hip to hip, trying to balance her on the lid of the washer, and pacing the building. It became painfully obvious that none of these men were going to offer up their chair to the mother with a child. I finally gave up my pitiful staring at the men and went out to the car to get the stroller. After I had wrangled LD into the stroller and gotten the stroller up over the curb to the front door, I had to try and get the door open. Any woman who has ever gone anywhere with a stroller and had to deal with a door knows exactly what I am talking about. You have to open the door, and then get a foot at the bottom to hold it open while you do this weird straddle and push the stroller through. It is a lot easier if someone holds the door for you, but, alas, this is 21st century America, so everyone sat and stared at me while I pushed and shoved and forced the stroller into the building. Humiliating, embarrassing, annoying. The next 28 minutes were awkward as I alternated wheeling LD around the building and crouching down to play with her in her stroller. And to make matters worse, after I had stuffed the washer to capacity and turned it on, I saw the sign that stated absolutely no greasy, oily clothes in the washers. Oops.
We survived. Its not that I “can’t” do it because I am a woman, it would just be easier if people were still polite and courteous. Unfortunately, there is now this weird society where ignoring a woman in need is justified because she is equal. If I was somewhere and saw a dad struggling with a stroller, I would try to help. But I guess I am old fashioned.