Saturday, February 18, 2012

The lost art of feminism

I am a woman. I like to wear dresses and nice shoes that clack when I walk. I wear lipstick. I cry at documentaries when the mother polar bear loses her baby. I own and use handbags.

But. But.... This doesn't mean I am incompetent. So why, every time anything needs doing at our local community centre, do they ask a room full of women - strong, clever, funny, wise women for the most part - if they have a husband who can help? "Anyone have a husband who knows how to fix a computer?" (No, but I can...) "Anyone have a husband who can come down and cook the BBQ?" (No, he wouldn't want to, he'd rather mind the kids, but I can...) "Anyone have a husband who can move chairs for us / clean the toys / put up the shelves in the shed etc etc etc" The list is endless. As endless as my ability to use a hammer or a wet rag.

I am not a superhero, but neither is my husband. Other than reaching a foot higher than me without a step ladder, or looking hot in board-shorts, there is nothing at that community centre that he could do that I cannot.

So please, committee ladies, stop asking for husband-help, lest I end up spending every weekend volunteering at "husband jobs" out of a moralistic sense of feminist outrage. *end rant*

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