The Good Old Days Weren’t Always That Good
The other night my friend, Sassy Filipina*, went on a date with a man she met on Plenty of Fish.
That was probably her first mistake.
Anywho, halfway through her romantic evening at Red Lobster, the internet dude she met online started going off on women’s lib. He tossed out that old divorce statistic that magazines regularly drop in order to scare chicks into getting married.
According to him, 80% of all marriages end in divorce…and that’s all the fault of the women’s lib movement.
God I wish I had been there to punch him in the face. Twice. Then once in the throat for good luck.
His main point of contention? Women don’t allow men to be men anymore. These words were spewed from a Navy reservist who probably clears 22k a year. Just to be clear, Navy reservist, you can’t afford a woman. The best you can afford is a 3rd world country girl with bad teeth who doesn’t know any better.
Back in the day that this asshole so fondly remembered, women didn’t have the option of working outside the home. They stayed home, raised children, cooked meals and polished their floors with highly flammable paste wax while inhaling the asbestos from the walls their husbands bought for them at a discount. Then came WW2.
Men went off to fight while women took over the jobs that the men had previously held. We learned a little something called independence. We learned what it was like to make our own money, how to do things better. And we liked it.
We made our own money so we got to make our own decisions.
But the men continued on acting as though nothing had changed. They worked all day at the office, then went home pissed off because their slippers were missing and the dishes weren’t done. Their wives weren’t home to take care of them, because they were at the office making money. Trying to earn enough to buy a house that wasn’t made of paper. But they were still expected to treat their husbands like giant, boring children.
Suddenly the ladies of this world became responsible for taking on both the housework, and the work-work. That ain’t cool. So we went ahead and invented community property too.
Hello divorce.
So yeah, a bunch of pampered men lost out. They wanted their wives paychecks, but they still wanted the same fucking maid service they got from buying a wife.
Fast forward to Sassy Philippine’s date. Here’s the thing Navy boy, I’m super cool with letting you make every life decision for me…as long as your supporting my ass while your doing it. The second a check with my name on it gets deposited into our joint checking account, expect a little feedback on your management style.
Judging from the fact that you’re yearly paycheck is 1/3 of my yearly salary, I’m already assuming we’re going to have some problems.
I feel bad for married women. Why? Because most of the ones I know are miserable. They work a regular job, same as their husbands, but when they come home, instead of a whiskey and a pair of slippers, they get a pile of laundry, a bunch of needy kids and a sink full of dishes. Men still seem to think that the fact that they work 8 hours a day negates them from all household responsibilities, while the women get another 8 hours of work.
I’m calling bullshit.
Make a decision men. Either you get a little housemaid to cater to your every demand, or you get a little help in paying the bills. In case you’re wondering, we keep the extra sponges under the sink.
The Mrs. after my name is not enough of a status symbol to keep me satisfied working 40 hours a week at work, and another 40 hours a week at home. If people want to call me a dried up old spinster because of that, that’s totally cool. I think deep down we all know that really means that I’m not a fucking idiot.
Magazines and movies try to trick us. Get married otherwise it proves that nobody wants you. You’re ugly. You’re boring. You’re too old to be single. Find your soul mate so you can wash his socks. Stop being single and have babies.
Fuck you. I’ll be single as long as I damn well please. Most likely forever, because I don’t make dinner. I eat ramen noodles in my underwear while I’m standing over my sink. It’s pretty fucking awesome. And I’m still cool, so eat me.
Unless men have stopped doing that too?
So yeah, Navy boy, we’re not stopping you from being men. You all stopped that a long time ago. Either start paying all the bills by yourself or show a little appreciation.
Until that time, my ovaries are closed until further notice.
*yeah, I’m back to racial stereotypes
