“You throw like a girl.”
At first I took offense. “You mean my trajectory and spatial skills are not up to par?”
“No, I mean you throw like a girl,” he said, dramatizing the statement with a limp flip of his wrist.
I almost wanted to cower and issue an apology for being the wrong gender. Fortunately, I quickly recovered and walked off the field after bestowing a digital flip of my own. If he wanted a tomboy to help him perfect his curve ball, then he shouldn’t have asked the lady in the slinky dress and spike heels.
Since when did femininity become a liability? Contemporary mores dictate that the modern femme fatale should be a unique hybrid of classic womanliness and macho swagger. Who made up these rules? Being a woman is difficult enough without the added burden of being a man as well.
I don’t want to be a man. If I did, I would have had a sex change years ago. Instead, I happily accept my XX assignment and furthermore, I’m going to shamelessly revel in it.
Why should I feel inferior if I can’t throw a ball or pee standing up? I don’t know many men who feel ashamed if they’re unable to walk in heels or nurse a baby. I simply refuse to buy into the argument that the attributes of my gender are lesser.
But then, I never thought it was necessary to compete with men. There’s no need for hostility if both parties have equal footing. And although I can appreciate the male drive for competition and dominance, I am not obliged to adopt them.

Why would I? The full expression of my own sex is wonder enough. It surprises me then when I’m asked (by women, no less!) why I bother to dress up. Invariably my questioner is festooned in boy clothes -tee shirt, sweat pants or jeans- and resentment. The implication being that I must be on the prowl because no woman in her right mind would wear anything else.
Maybe gals do primp excessively for the benefit of men, but I’ve been playing dress-up without cease since I was 4, and able to clunk around in my mother’s stiletto boots (with the rabbit fur trim!). Were my efforts done solely for an imaginary male audience? Doubtful. I just loved to swath myself in ladies’ acoutrement and dream of the day when I could wear them without hearing the patronizing remarks of well-meaning, but clueless adults.

I’m still waiting. Just last week a colleague questioned my wardrobe, chuckling as he remarked how previous contractors had never strayed from shapeless hospital scrubs and orthopedic oxfords. “Boy, you sure like to get gussied up,” he said, giving me the once-over. “Are you sure that you can perform your job?”
Although I patiently explained to him that my decision to wear a summer dress under my lab coat would in no way hamper my ability to think and behave rationally, I had to suppress a strong urge to smack him upside the head. Just because a lady likes to use a powderpuff, it does not make her one by association.
It would be a mistake to judge the girly girl as a pushover. Her femininity does not replace common sense, but enhances it. Only a woman who is confident and comfortable with herself, and not a stereotyped or dictated version of self, has access to unlimited reserves of strength. Not the superimposed variety hawked by men and fashion, but the unwavering type that grows exponentially in the presence of truth. It may not be truth of all womankind, but for those who feel an affinity, it is.
VIOLATORS WILL BE SHOT
Posted in Writing, social commentary with tags life, thoughts, random, interpersonal relationships, people as possessions, property rights on February 7, 2010 by kimmyWhen did it become standard practice to regard people as property?
I was standing in line at the grocery store. To either side of me were gossip rags screaming the latest in bi-coastal celebrity breakups. Each one seemed more ridiculous than the next and I wondered if the Midwest was the last bastion of reason and common sense. Or at least I did until the dowdy housewife behind me started unloading into her cell phone. “It just makes me sick,” she said while piling frozen Lean Cuisines and boxes of Twinkies onto the conveyor belt. “I know she’s gonna steal him away from me.”
Given the circumstances, it seemed fitting. Where else could one feel a sense of cameraderie with the lovelorn if not next to the latest copy of Star magazine? This particular story, however, did not require any reading. Before I had a chance to pay and escape with my purchase, she was already onto her next gripe. “…and after everything I’ve done for him, he owes me!”
That was more than enough. I grabbed my bags and ran for the exit, hoping the bad juju wasn’t trailing me out to the parking lot. I felt a cold sweat gather around my neck and I knew why. It’s only when you’ve been oppressed, that you know the price of freedom. Which brings me to the point: When we commit to another person, do we sign our lives away and become their defacto possession?
It seems a strange road, the one that leads from an affectionate joining to the bitter haggling over whom gets whom. Where along this path did we learn to regard our partners as inanimate objects? Aren’t people sentient beings who decide their own destinies, or have I lapsed into some idealistic dream again?
I thought about the mindset of the individual who could reduce human value to a commodity which can be transferred or stolen. Surely their self-esteem must be as low as their disregard of others. Why else would they continue claim possession of a person who has no interest in them? Or invent highly-charged emotional reasons to justify their action?
In addition, it’s interesting that despite all the posturing and tears, the slaveowner rarely inquires into the feelings of the slave. Apparently their self-absorption doesn’t allow for it. The only objective is to keep the boss contented, and if that means sacrifice of all others’ needs on the altar of their own glorification, so be it.
It’s ludicrous. When did we move from gratitude to entitlement? It’s not a given that we all will have the privilege of experiencing intimate relationships; there are many who drift through life completely disconnected. They would give their eye teeth for a loving companion. Yet those of us who have the good fortune abuse it and abase our partners until love is destroyed and only duty remains.
We’ve been told that a solid relationship requires faithfulness in both good and bad times. Certainly we ought not desert each other just because we’re bored. However I would argue that those who diminish their beloved in any way have already dissolved the union. Marriage or other lifelong committment is an agreement between equals, not rank and file. Once subjugation begins, the loving attachment ends and is replaced by the master/servant dynamic.
That job is a lot harder to quit. An employer conscious of his role and the rights of his employee will accept a two-week notice. A lover or spouse who has played the part of CEO will reject it and revert to their dual role of clingy dependent just long enough to get the agitator back in tow. Once silenced, the no trespassing sign is posted and you’d be wise to heed its warning. We may not care for the sanctity of marriage, but in this country, property rights are defended to the death.
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