I can’t cook ugali. I can cook rice and pasta, but pasta isn’t food and rice is but a tease to the tongue. Hence I shall never be wed.
Such would have been my circumstance if I had been born but a hundred years earlier. Often I cast an appreciative glance at the sky to thank the universe for placing me rather less randomly than I deserve. I otherwise might have been fated to run away to the forest and be eaten by lions, if indeed lions ever lived in forests. Perhaps the universe, which so favors me, would have sent me my very own Tarzan. A tall strapping lad with impaired taste buds. It was not to be. I am free! I suppose I should be grateful for my lot. Instead I am desperately unimpressed. It seems I am afflicted with a pathological lack of grace as well. I have to be a woman every day. I only vote once every five years and I own nothing, so the feminist political movement and all its hullabaloo about the “ius suffragii†and separate property acts means absolutely nothing to me. In fact the said movement has potentially made my life a great deal worse. Don’t get me wrong. If I had been alive (and on a different continent perhaps?) in the 1800’s I would have been out with the best of them: chain smoking, drinking beer and showing off my ankles (what scandal!). I might have driven too if my driving wasn’t so bad. Having said that I think the feminist movement was, in retrospect, a grand waste of time. Even more so than the American civil rights movement - unless “African†is honestly a better label than “black†and “black†a step up from “negro†- if the intent remains. The hyper femininity that resulted from women’s OWN rejection of the feminist movement as a “carpet muncher’s†voice box, has left the modern woman with an absurdly unrealistic notion of who she should be. I think it might have been easier to exist in a (more) male biased society than to be a part of this Fifties comic strip that is modern life. Barbie forgot her plastic shoes. Never mind that she can’t walk in them. Before we were women. Now we have to be the same woman, but none of us know which one. I am Oliver Twist; the idiot who dares ask for more. It’s quite simple. I won’t get implants and I won’t wear shoes that don’t fit. I can’t switch to contacts because they make me cry and I absolutely do not have a “salon budgetâ€. For all these and other sins I cannot at this time remember I blame those crazy feminists who thought to “emancipate†us but didn’t tell us what to do once our skirts got up to our thighs. Thanks a lot! Now we’re back to doing exactly what the men dictate. It may be a woman’s world, but it sure still is a man’s law. I must now go and lace up my pink polka dot All-stars lest Ken doll thinks to pick me up.
Trackback(0)
 |
TrackBack URI for this entry
Subscribe to this comment's feed
Show/Hide comments
Show/Hide comment form