Following on from my girl power post last week, the below was written as part of an assignment for my Writing Humour unit last study period. I based it on what we’d learnt about sarcasm and tried to base it on something a really caustic, biting female comedian might do. I got an overall Distinction; the tutor thought it started out well but seemed to switch intended audience towards the end, maybe lost focus a bit. I had noticed that but thought I’d fixed it. Ah well, can’t complain about a distinction.
People say it’s hard being a woman but I tend to disagree. Sure, we might get paid less for the same work as men but we tend to get free drinks at bars so I reckon we’re about even. I have friends who complain about getting sexually harassed at work or out on the street. I say, whatever. Take it in stride. It just means you’re pretty. You know what they say if no one harasses you? You’re ugly. And I’d rather be harassed than ugly.
Also, if you get harassed at work, you could take your boss to court and get a sweet pay day. Gratifying ego boost and potentially hundreds of thousands of dollars. How can you lose? Of course, there’s not that much benefit to it when I’m just walking down the street. Sure, it validates my outfit choice but what’s that ever done for me? I know I look good. And these shoes were expensive. You should be whistling, dickhead! Whistle louder actually.
The real bonus to being female is having breasts. These magical chest bumps get you into clubs, to the front of bars, into free drinks and into guy’s pants. They’re your access all areas ticket to fun times. Make the most of them, ladies. Push up bras and low cut tops are your friends, if you ever hope to get ahead in life. And if you ever hope to stop having to give head, then best figure out quick how to distract him with your breasts. We all know men can’t multitask so if you show him some titty, chances are he’ll forget all about putting his dick in your mouth and you’ll have dodged that bullet (pun intended).
I suppose it can’t be all sunshine and lollipops. Sure, we get breasts but we also get periods. But you know what? I’m not all doom and gloom about the monthly visitor. I see them as a free ticket to act however the fuck I want for a few days. Hell, maybe even a week, if I feel like pushing it. Whenever you feel like impressing people with your bat-shit craziness, just drop a subtle hint that you’re expecting a visit from ‘Aunt Flo’ and watch the fools scurry for cover. No one wants to take on a menstruating female. It’s the ultimate terror, even women take a step back. Although they can usually tell when you’re bunging it on, they still give you room just to support the act. Us women have gotta support one another, right?
Emotions are really what’s to blame here. Oh we’re women, we’re such emotional creatures. Oh no, I broke my nail. This is my greatest tragedy. I’m going to cry for seven days and then stab someone. We get upset and then we just can’t control ourselves. We’re hysterical, passionate, weak willed. Were we ever like that? In my private moments, I like to think that all those ‘hysterical’ women from the Victorian era were really just great actresses looking for a break from the husband and kids. And what better way to do it really? Burst into tears, scream, faint, over-react outrageously and everyone leaves you the fuck alone for a few hours. Maybe one day you take it too far and they have you committed. Hell, you’re in there with a bunch of other women who’ve all faked it. Sounds like a girl’s weekend away to me. Bring it on.
Of course, we haven’t always had it this easy. The dark side to being the ‘weaker’ sex is that we’ve always been controlled. Back in the day, it was our fathers, then our husbands, who controlled us. We always belonged to someone. Luckily, we were worth more than cattle otherwise we probably would’ve been eaten. We were trapped in the house, popping out kids. Not many women had options outside of this.
Then the war came and we figured out we could do stuff… outside the house. And we liked it. Then the boys came back (well, some of them did) and we were like, “Shove your fucking dish towel, I’m going to work. And, by the way, I’m on the pill so you won’t trap me at home by keeping me barefoot and pregnant my whole life.” Not that there’s anything wrong with that, if it’s your choice. But I’m sure there were plenty of women that would’ve preferred to get out there and get amongst it first… and maybe then have the million rug rats.
I’m over-simplifying things as usual but you get my drift. All of a sudden we were free. We had jobs and lives and choices. But I feel like some guys have had a hard time adjusting. They didn’t have these submissive little baby boxes cooking dinner for them every night anymore. They had Independent Women. With Jobs. And Opinions. And deep down in their hearts they longed for the ‘good old days’ when their women would just shut the fuck up and make them a ‘sammich’.
And I want to clarify this by stating I’m not talking about all guys. Just some guys. Just the ones that seem compelled to beat women and rape them. Those are the ones I’m talking to. These are the ones having a hard time adjusting to women as people, when what they really want is women as property. Well, those days are getting pretty over pretty fast. In fact, some people would say they’re long gone (at least in the lucky countries). So, get your heads out of your asses. This is 2015. Women are powerful and awesome and we don’t belong to you so stop behaving as if we live on a permanent supermarket shelf just waiting for you to take us down, pay for us at the cashier and then do with as you please. ‘Cause, you know, we’re fucking people too. And we’re rad as fuck. Deal with it.
Image credit: GirlTalkHQ