The other day, some very obviously white, whiny, inadequate male proceeded to put me in the kitchen barefoot. I thought how utterly strange this was because I neither know how to cook nor have a desire for children (Bad Frog! You ain't gonna be no good to no man like that!).
Aggro-boy spewed out the (older than the crust in your underwear) rhetoric of how "them evil femi-nazi's" are trying to pollute the minds of the good little girls. The "good little girls," of course, are the ones who giggle when their bosses or co-workers slap their asses or ask them to go down on them on lunch break.
They know where their place is and can't check their oil (much less change a tire) without the help of a big, strong man. These are the ones the men affectionately refer to as "my little honey who loves to spend my money" (on shopping and nail appointments, of course).
This supine (impotent) boy was scared out of his mind. (Much like the calves forced to participate in the scramble, running in fear from some good old boy about to twist their neck, straddle them and tie their legs together.) But, as the respectable Clayton Williams put it, "Rape is like the weather. If there isn't anything you can do about it, you may as well sit back and enjoy it."
This fear I can only attribute to his hanging desperately on to the fat piece of "pie" being slowly whittled down to what he deserves. Which, in a lot of cases, isn't squat.
I think it is unnerving to Boy Wonder that some women actually want you to stop looking at their tits and give them a promotion based on (non-sexual) performance. Much like the Civil Rights Movement, where people of color want you to stop looking at their color and pay attention to what they contribute to society.
Do we have to gouge out people's eyes to get anywhere? When you hit the glass ceiling and mister Dick B. Whitey is smiling down on you asking you to be a good little girl and fetch some coffee, eye-gouging comes to mind.
It's funny how many men claim to know what women think, much less feel. I suppose when you surround yourself with propaganda and age-old stereotypes (you know, that aggressive, progressive women are all bitches, dykes, lesbos), the view your brain gets from inside your pants becomes even smaller.
Everyone on this planet, except for a few indigenous peoples who have little contact with society, is guilty of allowing themselves to believe that one person represents a whole group of people. This is true of organized religion, politics, race and ... you bet your g-string, gender also.
I don't care who is a member of what organization - if I like some of what they promote, I like some of it. Silly little boys need to step off when trying to tell me who and what I am. People hanging together for the strength of numbers is a completely different thing. I rarely like all of what anyone has to say. I would hope that others agree with me when I say that hanging on anyone's "skirt" while trying to get ahead in life is not an option.
I can lump people into categories with the best of them, but the funny thing about guys is there is a little pig in each of them. This can be fixed, however, as it is not a breeding problem but simply how they are raised.
I guess what needs to be said to all the threatened boys out there is the "power" that men have held over women for too damned long is slipping out of your hands faster than a K-Y lubed "midnight special." There isn't anything you can do about it so you may as well sit back and enjoy it.
Gilmore is a senior.