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Cutesy Feminism


Sandra Tsing Loh annoys me even more than Caitlin Flangan.

I wrote a post about her over the summer or maybe it was earlier fall. She is the writer who got tired of her marriage but instead of working on her issues, she had an affair which precipitated her divorce. She has a live in relationship now – and I won’t go into why I think those types of set-ups are usually doomed from the onset – and she finds herself, again, the breadwinner.

Her recent piece in The New York Times (read it while you can, they are putting the pay wall back up soon) is on needing a wife. Because every good feminist needs a wife to offset the uselessness of her husband, the stuck in the 1950’s Reagan-era nostalgic Neanderthal caricature  sperm donor her biological clock blinded her into breeding with.

I get tired of hearing this worn out bit of nonsense.

Oh, it’s not nonsense that while women have gained full-time employment outside their homes in near parity numbers with men over the last three decades, men have not picked up the home-making or child care slack at the same rates. In fact it’s not even a decent comparison when one looks at the numbers.

What is tiresome is the whining.

I hate to quote Dr. Phil here, but the man made a valid point when he said. and repeatedly,

“You teach people how to treat you.”

If your mate is not shopping, cooking, cleaning or caring for offspring in a share and share alike way, say something about it. Tell him/her what you expect. Why you expect it. Work out a compromise that is agreeable to you both.

But men can’t be reasoned with, women argue. And they should just see that work that needs doing and that I can’t do it all. What is wrong with them?

Nothing. Just as there is nothing wrong with women who don’t seem able to get their minds around the fact that men, despite evolution, still can’t read our minds or make the correlation between housework and foreplay.

I was the breadwinner in my first marriage and my late husband did the cooking. In fact, he insisted that grocery shopping be a bonding experience for us – something that made me crazy because he had to go up and down every single aisle in the store whether we needed to or not. Shopping took less time when I was a single mother wrangling a toddler who refused to sit in the cart than it did with her father.

He would have done the laundry too but his indifference to sorting my colors and materials would have totaled my wardrobe.

He got mad at me when I did yard work. I had summers off, being a teacher, and time to do it that he lacked. But he found yard work soothing and exercised his gender veto.

Our motto from the beginning was that nothing be stewed over. If someone had an issue, discussions needed to happen.

“I can’t read minds,” he told me.

Now I stay home. It’s just the way things worked out. Rob would be just as happy – happier really – if I was bringing home the bread instead of shopping for it.

If the majority of the cooking, baking, cleaning, shopping etc. falls on me, it’s because I have the time. Rob willingly chips in, and even more often, simply does things without my having to mention it at all. Laundry, cleaning (he does the bathrooms because my allergies don’t mix with harsh cleaning products).

And mind-reading is off limits, though we are so alike that sometimes I bet we could do it if we just practiced a bit.

You trained your husbands well, women will marvel. But truthfully I did nothing aside from open my mouth and express my thoughts on how a marriage should work. I did it more often with Will than I do with Rob, but I was Will’s first wife and Rob had 27 years of partnering tucked away in his resumé when I met him.

There are no abbreviations. Like children, spouses assess the lay of the land and act accordingly. Men and women. Dr.Phil’s hackneyed home spun advice is valid.

The whole “needing a wife” thing is cliché. What women need is to speak up, and probably screen men a bit more in the beginning to ward off that buyer’s remorse some many end up with.

Act Like a Lady


I don’t think I could have had a more sexist upbringing. Although my father, a more traditional role man never lived, confused me by raising me and my next youngest sister as he would have done with sons in terms of expectations about education, work ethic, right/wrong moral issues, Dad still expected us to be feminine. I was a complete disappointment to him on this score. I was tomboyish and unattractive well into my late teens. Even when I took a stab at the girly pretty thing – growing my hair long – it met with disapproval.

Given all this – and throw in the tyranny of 12 years of Catholic schooling – it is small wonder I bristle at sexism in all its forms. It just doesn’t wash with me. There isn’t an argument compelling enough to make me put up with it or to keep quiet about it.

And given that the world in general prefers to not see it in daily action, I feel that much more duty-bound to point it out.

The latest double-standard issue in the world of politics is the Arlen Spector/Michelle Bachmann radio debate incident. Spector, as some of you may know, is an ancient Senator for life from Pennsylvania. Bachmann is the Tea-baggers’ darling Republican congressperson from Minnesota who is of the Palin school of thought on issues, which means she can name them, maybe even spell them but couldn’t define one to save her own life.

The two were paired on the Dom Giardono show and Spector challenged Bachmann to  “articulate what she actually stood for”, which is hilarious for two reasons. The first being that Bachmann is a Teabagger and they don’t stand for anything but the quaint notion that government exists only to bail them out when their lives take unexpected spine-chilling twists into disaster (which only happens to the godless anyway). Oh, and when they do exercise their rights to entitlements, other people should be footing the tax bill. But the other reason that this is so funny hinges on the fact that Spector has gone from Democrat to Republican  back to Democrat again. Joe Lieberman has more clearly defined priorities. Spector’s only aim in life seems to be staying in the Senate.

Having a head full of air and soundbites, Bachmann gleefully complied and went on about being a good little party of NO obstructionism with a good measure of tax cutting thrown in – if anyone didn’t already know that Republicans have no clue how budgets are balanced (Hint – you do actually have to take money in. The Fed can’t just print it. It needs a flimsy excuse at least.)

Spector at some point got a word in but in the spirit of what passes for discourse today, Bachmann talked over him.

The result was this exchange*:

“I’m going to treat you like a lady,” Mr. Specter shot back. “Now act like one.”

Ms. Bachmann replied, “I am a lady.”

He sounds like Dad’s uncle, Father John. A disagreeable man with no inner shushing voice. He spouted and if I knew what was good for me, I kept my good little girl mouth shut.

But good for Bachmann to speak up, she went on to counter him several more times as he chastised her for being “unladylike”.

Unladylike is what Sr. Walter Marie used to rag on me about when I was in junior high. She went about it with missionary zeal which is another reason I am such a pain about shining the light on sexism today.

Make no mistake here, I think Bachmann is a loon and her politics are abhorrent, but she is the elected representative of the people of Minnesota (a fact I can barely wrap my mind around) and has every right to speak without being silenced by shame.

Ladylike is code and all women should recognize it for the unsubtle put-down that it is.

* Audio link available

The Senator is The Centerfold


Do you remember that J. Geils song, Angel is the Centerfold? It’s about a guy who discovers his old high school crush has posed nude for a girly magazine. Perhaps the people of Massachusetts had the same kind of double take moment when they discovered that one of their senatorial options, Scott Brown, had posed nude for Cosmo back in his college days. Or perhaps not. It’s not like the questionable decisions of our youth should have any bearing on the middle aged adults we become.

But as I pondered the prospect of a congressional representative for whom full frontal body scanning by the TSA shouldn’t be an issue, I wondered if a woman could have gotten away with it.

When I was in college in the 80’s, Playboy Magazine showed up on campus every year looking for female students willing to “audition” for a spot in their “Girls of the Big Ten” spread. Every year. Without fail.

One year I was sitting in my children’s lit class idly listening to a gaggle of sorority girls giggling about the prospect.

“So’n so is going to do it,” Muffy said. “Do you think I should?”

“Oh, you are way prettier than So’n so,” Buffy assured her.

“But So’n so has bigger tits,” Baby pointed out – rather needlessly.

Our professor had entered the room at the start of their conversation without being noticed, and it was at this point he intervened.

“Just an fyi, ladies, posing nude is a career killer for an elementary teacher.”

Because I can just see Muffy greeting her students and their parents on Meet the Teacher night.

“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. AveragePerson. I’m little Joe’s teacher, Miss Muffy.”

Mr. AveragePerson’s eyes do that roll up into his head thing as he tries to place her being locating her on his rolodex of 2D hotties,

“Girls of the Big Ten 1985!”

While he is delightedly hi-five-ing Junior  – because what dad doesn’t want his son’s first teacher to be a Playboy bunny – Mom is mentally rehearsing her rallying speech for the PTA posse she intends to start rounding up the very second she exits the room in a icy huff.

Now picture  Scott Brown as Sandy Brown running for the saintly old Ted Kennedy’s seat. Her nude  Girls of the Big Ten Playboy picture – which is tame by even prime time television standards today  and she only agreed to because she needed the money since she was paying her own way through school – circulating freely in the blogosphere. Probably has it’s own trending topic on Twitter and a Facebook fan page. Would Ms. Brown be a senator today?

No. She wouldn’t. Men can agree – and someone on my Facebook feed latched onto this like a dog on a new chew toy from Santa – that youthful “indiscretions” don’t matter, but that only applies to men. Especially in the world of politics.

Case in point. Mark Sanford, our darling little hiker of the Appalachian trail infamy. During his South Carolina State of the State Address to the state’s legislature, at some point after he recognized those in Iraq and implored his constituents to dig deep and sacrifice in these hard times, he admitted his “failings”, and by failings I mean little things like misusing public funds to tryst with his mistress, lying about it and publicly humiliating his wife. He promised that he would now stop –  apologizing  that is – after this one last public flogging photo-op where he humbly forgave himself for being weak and human – which he contends that we all are. Let’s pause here and consider the ways in which we too are week and human just like Mark.

He droned on to reveal that with God’s help, now knows the true meaning of success. I am going to guess that it is riding out a scandal and keeping one’s job. For that perhaps he – and the Republican party – are secretly thanking former President Clinton for setting the precedent. One that applies to men only because a female politico who cheated on the taxpayer’s dime, lied about it and then expected to keep her job only after being caught forced her to go the humiliation route pioneered by the televangelist of yore, would be out on her butt.

Eliot Spitzer can find new life as a pundit after banging escort girls, but Sarah Palin, whose only sin is preferring milking her fifteen minutes to actually working, has to profess to all manner of homespun Cleaverish nonsense about femininity, home and hearth while projecting warmth and genuine interest in Glenn Beck and making googley eyes at Bill O’Reilly while he pontificates.

My Facebook friend thinks the sexual indiscretion question should be moot (except where Clinton is concerned – that moldering pony should be whipped at every opportunity), and I agree with him. Brown’s nudie shoot is quaint by today’s standards.

“He can’t have much to hide. He’s barely even using one hand,” my husband pointed out, as we looked at the Cosmo spread. “I’d need both of mine.”

But, as other women in the blogosphere and on Twitter noted, a female candidate wouldn’t be greeted with such nonchalance. Women are held to higher standards in the god fearing world of less than god-like politicians.