A tale of three abortions

Why you should donate to or volunteer for Judge Chris Taylor, who is running for Wisconsin Supreme Court

Photo by Emma Guliani on Pexels.com

Last week, when I was canvassing for Judge Chris Taylor for the Wisconsin Supreme Court, I met Liz, who was raped when she was 19.

Stranger rape. She was, she said, in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I nodded in agreement. Yes, we women have to be so careful, don’t we?

Wait.

No.

There should not be “wrong” places for us.

We should not have to be so careful.

We should be able to exist in this world without worrying that someone will harm us.

He was a rapist. He chose to violate another human being. He has all the culpability.

Holy smoke it takes a lot of work to reframe my thinking.


She ended up pregnant.

This was before Roe. “It was when you had to go in the back streets to get an abortion,” she said.

Which is what she was forced to do.

Liz lived to tell the tale, as did another woman I know, Jane.

Jane had gotten pregnant when and her boyfriend were in college. He said it was not a good time for them to get married. She flew to Mexico for the abortion, calling her sister once she had arrived to tell her exactly where she was in case she didn’t return and her family needed to find her body.

She got the abortion and lived.

It’s been a while since Jane told me her story, but I think the boyfriend later asked her to marry him and she said nope.

(Yes! I found the post I wrote about Jane two years ago and I remembered correctly.)


I met Lucy, 76, yesterday when I was canvassing. When I told Lucy that Judge Taylor used to be an attorney for Planned Parenthood (which is one of the reasons I want her on the Wisconsin Supreme Court – her opponent is anti-choice), Lucy didn’t miss a beat.

“I am for abortion,” she said.

Two of her college roommates had needed abortions late in much-wanted pregnancies.

One fetus didn’t have a skull and was aborted at six months.

The other fetus – seven months – had multiple anomalies and was going to die in utero. Her parents named her Abigail and held a funeral.


This world where women have to fly to Mexico or risk their lives in back alleys? This world where a wanted baby has to die in your uterus for you to get the medical treatment you need?

We are returning to this world and worse.

We can’t depend on the US Supreme Court, but there are state courts doing the right thing.

Send a few bucks to Judge Taylor or phone bank for her so we can continue the fight for women’s rights – for all rights.

PS I changed the names and identifying details of all these women, but the stories themselves are real.

I hate my neck

Which, alas, is probably the only thing I have in common with Nora Ephron

I realized when I was looking for photos of hands that I have already written about my hands. Dang I never have anything new, do I?

Remember Nora Ephron’s essay about how she hated her neck?

I hate my neck, too, but I hate my hands more.

Probably because I see my hands more than I see my neck, but whatever.

I hate my hands.

I hate how dry and wrinkled they are. I hate how thin the skin is. I hate the dark blotches.

I hate my hands.

Yes, they still work just fine.

Yes, I can hold things and carry things and make brownies and bread and wash my face and open doors and I can do all these things without pain.

But I hate them.

They are so ugly.

They look so old.

*I* look so old.

I cover them in vaseline before I go to bed.

Vaseline, it turns out, is not a magic potion that will restore youth to my skin.

I use sunblock on them.

Sunblock allegedly prevents further damage, but does not cure age.

My hands look old.


I scold myself for being so vain.

When did I become so vain?

I wasn’t vain when I was younger because, I thought, I had nothing to be vain about. My friends always attracted more attention than I did. I had eyes. I knew who was pretty and who was not.

On a date once in college – we had gotten to the underwear-only stage – this guy told me that I would be cute if I lost some weight.

I still am not sure how to take that. Was I cute? Or was I just chubby and hence not cute?

Some additional context for this guy: He had a massive crush on one of my roommates/best friends. People always mixed us up – we were the same height, with the same hair color, and we lived together. Also, our names IRL are very similar: Think Danielle vs Danette.

(But really people are just lazy.)

She did not reciprocate his feelings.

He once offered her all of his money if she would sleep with him.

Over 40 years and I still remember that.

(She did not accept.)

(She laughed in horror.)

(I think he asked me out because he thought I was kind of a substitute for my friend.)

I knew I wasn’t vain and I saw that as a good thing.

I was proud about my lack of vanity.

I was vain about my lack of vanity.

Now I know it’s not that I was morally superior.

It’s that I was clueless, sailing along on the beauty of youth.


I don’t have a happy ending for this story, an aha! moment where I am grateful just to be alive.

Because my hands do look old.

And my neck does look old.

But I will say that when I saw a friend at my college reunion, a friend who has always been so, so beautiful, and I told her she hasn’t aged, she laughed and said that oh yes she has.

She is still gorgeous.

The New Urinary Leash

Are there bushes?

The town of Oconomowoc, Wisconsin, removed the provision for public restrooms in the plans for a new city park.

Some, including Alderman Chaz Schellpeper, simply feel a large restroom structure shouldn’t be so close to the park. “I’m totally opposed to building the restroom on the Green,” he said.

Milwaukee Journal Sentinel

The same council member above also tried to remove a provision to include plumbing from the budget, simply so no later representatives of the people, people including women and children, would be tempted to add restrooms later:

Schellpeper unsuccessfully tried to eliminate the inclusion of laterals, which would be installed underground to allow restrooms to be added back into the project, from the concept plan. He acknowledged his intention was to “hamstring” future aldermen from “making a bad decision” for restrooms near the oval space.

Milwaukee Journal Sentinel

Are you as shocked shocked as I am that a man would not see any need for a public restroom?

Are you shocked shocked that a man would not even consider the needs of anyone who doesn’t have a white penis?


Last Saturday morning, as we were standing in line waiting for the library to open, an older white woman said: That Mamdani sure can spend money.

(This was not completely out of the blue – another woman and I were talking about how great Mamdani was.)

Me: What do you mean?

Woman: He paid people $50 an hour to shovel snow!

Me: First, he paid them $30 – three zero – not fifty. But even so, so what? He got the streets clear in a day. That’s a big deal.

Woman: Wasting taxpayer money.

Me: But that is the exact purpose of taxpayer money – to make life better for all of us. How much would it have cost for the streets and sidewalks to be covered with snow and people not able to get anywhere?

Woman: It’s a waste of money!

Me: We are at *the library,* which is funded by taxpayer money. The sidewalks and roads you used to get here – taxpayer money. Our public schools – taxpayer money. This is socialism – where we use our money to improve the community.


Who are these people who think that the purpose of taxpayer money is to be saved? To be hoarded?

They’re OK with the regime spending one billion yes billion with a B dollars a day on an illegal war against Iran, but not with spending a few maybe tens of thousands of dollars to do things that actually serve us? That make our lives better?


When you plan to attend a public event – a festival, a concert at a city park, a fair – what’s one of the first things you think of?

I can tell you what I think of: Will I be able to pee? Will there be public restooms?

If the answer is no, then I have to do some hard thinking. Maybe I just don’t go. Or, if I go, I stop drinking fluids several hours before the event.

If I had children, I would stop at the “Maybe I just don’t go,” because it is not reasonable to dehydrate children.

I don’t think men ever go through this process.

When the entire world is your toilet, you don’t have to care about anyone else.

PS I did email the reporter for the story and asked him if anyone had asked the council member where women and children were supposed to pee, but I have not heard back from him.

When men marry power (or inherit it)(or become friends with it)

Some people are born on third base and go through life thinking they hit a triple

Photo by Glauco Moquete on Pexels.com

It’s always the same thing with these guys, isn’t it? The ones who complain about women being golddiggers or sleeping their way to the top are the very ones who got their money and power through connections – marrying the boss’ daughter, playing tennis with the nephew of the guy who owns the company, inheriting from a slumlord father.

(Or they are just bitter and angry because they have not reached those levels and don’t understand why their white penises have not given them the power they think they rightly deserve.)

Every accusation is a confession.

It’s a story as old as time.

Many Europeans crossed the sea, including large numbers of poor women who came to seek their fortunes. Mothers were frequently disappointed. Since these immigrant women brought no resources, many of the young men who came to the colony to get rich preferred to marry girls of colour, whose dowries included land and slaves they could use profitably. Such preferences began to inspire jealousy in white women.

Source: Julien Raymond, Observations on the Origin and Progression of the White Colonists’ Prejudice against Men of Colour (1791), quoted in Empire’s Crossroads, by Carrie Gibson

(True, women have long had to marry financial security because marriage has long been one of the only ways for women to sleep safely. But despite the way Julien Raymond, an indigo grower on Haiti – who inherited his plantation but who later became an abolitionist, so that’s awesome, Julien! – wait he sold his slaves to become a full-time abolitionist? Couldn’t he have freed them? – phrases it, I would suggest that women were seeking survival, not a fortune, via the only route available to them.)

(Also, although I question the interpretation of women’s sentiment by an 18th century man, abolitionist or not, I must comment on the apparent misplaced jealousy. My sisters in Christ! Other women are not the enemy – the patriarchy is the enemy. )

(Whoa the Julien Raymond/Raimond plot thickens! I found this on wikipedia. Racism has entered the chat! Like – his dad married his mom despite her color because she had money? Julien is sounding more and more like Arthur Schopenhauer, a bitter old German philosopher who thought women were inferior and, as it turns out, was outshone by his mother, who wrote books that sold better than his did.)

He (Julien Raimond) was born a free man of color; the son of a French colonist and a colored mother born to a planter in the isolated Sud province of the colony. His mother, Marie Bagasse, was significantly wealthier and more educated than his father, Pierre Raimond, providing an economic incentive for their interracial marriage. 

(Also, I saw that Julien was an activist for voting rights for free people of color – the author uses the word “people” but I bet she meant “men,” – on the basis that they were taxpayers. As in, if you had money, you should be able to vote. Which I guess was the prevailing philosophy at the time looking at you United States but still, people are awful.)


Sleeping your way to the top started way before 1791. You probably were taught that Christopher Columbus was a plucky explorer who happened to convince the king and queen of Spain to finance his expedition just because he was so cool.

Ha.

No.

He married the daughter of a man with connections to the Portuguese court – the very court that had kings and princes related to Queen Isabella – and those connections played a part in Isabella’s support.

Many of the crown’s advisors, however, were reluctant to believe this unknown Genoese sailor. Although he had made some important connections in Portugal and had married well, his relative obscurity did not inspire confidence….Still the queen was intrigued. Perhaps it was the promise of wealth, or the crown’s own spirit of adventure, or a simple post-Reconquista confidence. Perhaps, as some historians have argued, Columbus won over the queen for more sentimental reasons – Isabella’s great-grandfather was King John I of Portugal, her grandfather was Prince John, and her great-uncle was Prince Henry. Although Columbus was Genoese, his Portuguese connections did him no harm.

Source: Empire’s Crossroads, by Carrie Gibson

But how could such a humble man marry someone with such connections? Historian Samuel Eliot Morison had theories about it decades ago. The wife was an ancient 25 years old and didn’t have a dowry, which I guess means she was desperate. (Speaking of women needing marriage for survival.)

Discussing the question of how Christopher Columbus, the son of a Genoese wool weaver, could marry the daughter of a Portuguese Knight of Santiago, a member of the household of Prince John, Lord of Reguengos de Monsaraz (Master of Santiago,) and of Prince Henry the Navigator’s household, Samuel Eliot Morison[4] wrote that this is “no great mystery.” Filipa was “already about 25 years old,” her mother was a widow “with slender means,” and “her mother was glad enough to have no more convent bills to pay, and a son-in-law […] who asked for no dowry.”

Christopher Columbus slept his way to the top


And this practice has carried on. Wisconsin senator Ron Johnson, of course, is one of the most egregious examples. Bless his sweet heart he’s kind of dumb, but he married the boss’ daughter and then went into business with the boss’ son and then the boss, who happened to be an F500 CEO, threw a ton of business at Johnson’s/son’s company, which definitely violates ethical practices and is probably illegal and I’m surprised the auditors never said anything.

Point is, Johnson would never have amassed the fortune he did had he not married into a very good situation.

Wisconsin representative Jim Sensenbrenner also had the sense to be born to riches, but at least he was smart enough to graduate from Stanford.

You would think that someone who came from this background would have fought more for women’s rights, but I guess no.

Sensenbrenner was born in Chicago, Illinois. His great-grandfather, Frank J. Sensenbrenner, was involved in the early marketing of Kotex sanitary napkin and served as the second president of Kimberly-Clark.

Source: Wikipedia

Inheriting your fortune. Sleeping your way to the top. Making the right friends. It’s what white men do. They connect to power and money and then they think they got there on their merits.

Howard Lutnick? The current secretary of the treasury and one of the regime’s useless idiots?

He came from a middle-class family. But yet got a Wall Street job where soon, he was making a ton of money. How did he get such a job, you ask? Aren’t those Wall Street jobs widely coveted?

Why yes they are but when you make friends with a partner at the firm who also happens to the the boss’ nephew? It sure makes it a lot easier to get that interview.

After graduating, Lutnick worked at Noonan, Astley & Pierce as a broker for the United States dollar–Japanese yen exchange, where he met B. Gerald Cantor.[13] In 1983, Cantor took Lutnick as his protégé and hired him at his eponymous firm, Cantor Fitzgerald, encouraged by Rod Fisher, a partner at the firm and Cantor’s nephew.

Source: Wikipedia

Men. Marry. Money. And. Power.

But assume women don’t accomplish anything on our own.

Why don’t you smile more?

I dunno – because The Patriarchy has me so pissed off?

I was on an overnight flight recently. After six hours of not sleeping well because who can sleep well sitting up in an airplane seat, they turned the lights on to serve breakfast, which also is the last thing I want at Dark O’Clock when I have not slept. I do not want food. I do not want your wretched coffee. I want to be left alone.

Oh good grief here I am justifying why I do not want to smile.

We should not have to justify our feelings to anyone.

When the flight attendant asked me if I wanted anything, I took off my mask and asked for water.

I was not rude.

I was not loud.

I was not demanding.

I was not cranky.

I politely said, “I would like some water, please.”

And yet.

The male flight attendant asked, “What’s wrong? How about a smile?”

How dare I not ask for water in the way he wanted?

How dare I not arrange my face in a manner that pleased him?


In all my life, I don’t think a woman has told me to smile.

To be fair, not many men have told me to smile, either.

They have told me not to be so direct, so loud, so outspoken.

But they have not told me to smile.

Maybe that’s why this was such a shock? That at my age, I finally got the “Why don’t you just smile?” treatment?

Except I think I would be just as angry if this happened all the time.


Seriously, why does a FA care if a middle-aged woman who just woke up is smiling?

Are all the men smiling?

If not, did he tell them to smile? I didn’t hear him prompting anyone else to smile.


It’s been almost two weeks and I am still angry about this.

You know what makes me even more angry?

When he asked me to smile, I did.

So many bullets

So much dodging

Photo by JJ Jordan on Pexels.com

Did I tell you about seeing an old – what should I call him? not boyfriend but someone who would call me every day and took me to meet his parents and told me he could see a future with me but then married the woman he had been driving 12 hours each way to see about once a month the entire time he was carrying on with me? – JERK at my college reunion?

Well I did see him.

I saw him and he looked awful – super skinny, which could be illness and is nothing to mock, but also with long – like down to his waist – scraggly, dirty hair.

The thinness might not be a choice.

But the hair was.

My friend Karen Ashby wrote a poem about it:

Reunion

How appropriate

You aged like you treated me

Rather terribly


Well.

I just heard about another former boyfriend and I use that word so, so lightly.

This guy – let’s call him Dick – was from grad school. We dated in the spring of my first year and in that summer.

I was supposed to spend the fall semester in Rotterdam.

I flew to Rotterdam and spent two days there before returning to Austin because –

DO NOT DO THIS! DO NOT DO THIS STUPID THING, YOUNG WOMEN –

because I missed him so much.

(WTAF was I thinking?)

In the two days that I was gone, he had already asked out my friend Sabine. We were only beginning friends so she didn’t know I was crazy about Dick. He told her that he and I were not at all serious, which I guess would have been OK if he had given me the same information. He did not.

He told me he had planned to spend the semester apart thinking about our relationship, so I waited until the end of the semester, hoping, hoping.

(I was so stupid.)

I should have just said, Oh OK. You want to break up. Bye.

But I didn’t. So a lot of my misery is my own fault.

After that semester, I realized that I had put myself through extra torture for nothing because sure enough, he did not want to be with me.

I also spent the semester being really angry at Sabine, which was unfair to her. She kept pushing and trying to revive our friendship. It wasn’t until she told me everything that had happened with her and Dick and we discovered that he had used the exact same lines on both of us that I was over him and back with her.

She and I have been close friends every since.


As one does, over the years, I googlestalked Dick. He married a woman who taught at a small college in California. She looks like a nice person. They had two children. He already had one child from his first marriage. (He was divorced when I met him.)

I talked to Sabine yesterday and she, also, has googlestalked. And she discovered that he is married again.

His third marriage.

And he married a woman more than 20 years his junior.

And they have two toddlers together.

Yes he is on his third marriage and his fourth and fifth children.

Y’all, he is 68 years old.

With two toddlers.

He will not get to sleep at night for years.

He will not have a peaceful house for decades.

He will never be able to retire.

Photo by Polina Smelova on Pexels.com

Who cooked the Last Supper?

Maybe it was another miracle?

Did that bread magically make itself? Photo by Enzo Natale Ferrari on Pexels.com

I just started reading Rosalind Miles’ Who Cooked the Last Supper? I thought it must be new, but no, she published it in 1988.

1988.

That was before I had even heard of women’s studies. Before I had heard of The Patriarchy. Before it struck me that the textbook in my art history class – which was taught by a woman – had not included a single female artist and that professional women didn’t wear dresses, much less pants, to work.

Before I thought to question a male boss who arrived at work at 6 a.m. and left at 7 p.m. and came in on weekends yet always had clean clothes, a clean house, and a meal when he got home.

Before I started to wonder why only men seemed to get promotions, even though I had documented results that were as good as or better than my male co-workers.

Before I was laid off from a good job after a corporate edict that every manager had to cut staff by 10% and realized that I was the only childless woman on the team – the rest of the team was married men with stay at home wives.

Before I thought to vote for women.


Just a few years ago, Nautilus ran entire story – Darwin Was a Slacker and You Should Be Too – Many famous scientists have something in common—they didn’t work long hours – about how male scientists and writers found success by focusing on their work and spending the rest of the day in leisure. About how we all need to have a lot of leisure time to process our brain work and make contributions to art and science.

How on earth did they accomplish that, one wonders. How on earth did these men spend a lot of time in leisure?

(The author does include a woman: “Irish novelist Edna O’Brien would work in the morning, ‘stop around one or two and spend the rest of the afternoon attending to mundane things.'” One does wonder what those “mundane things” might have been. Laundry, perhaps? Cooking? Grocery shopping? Making sure the kids got a spot in summer camp?)

(And this: “Microsoft founder Bill Gates to the Beatles put in their 10,000 hours before anyone heard of them.” The author seems to have forgotten that Gates had family connections to IBM.)

After his morning walk and breakfast, Darwin was in his study by 8 and worked a steady hour and a half. At 9:30 he would read the morning mail and write letters. At 10:30, Darwin returned to more serious work, sometimes moving to his aviary, greenhouse, or one of several other buildings where he conducted his experiments.

By noon, he would declare, “I’ve done a good day’s work,” and set out on a long walk on the Sandwalk, a path he had laid out not long after buying Down House. (Part of the Sandwalk ran through land leased to Darwin by the Lubbock family.)

When he returned after an hour or more, Darwin had lunch and answered more letters. At 3 he would retire for a nap; an hour later he would arise, take another walk around the Sandwalk, then return to his study until 5:30, when he would join his wife, Emma, and their family for dinner.

On this schedule he wrote 19 books, including technical volumes on climbing plants, barnacles, and other subjects; the controversial Descent of Man; and The Origin of Species, probably the single most famous book in the history of science, and a book that still affects the way we think about nature and ourselves.

Nautilus

Oh the author, Alex Soojung-Kim Pang, is male. But you knew that.


It took another woman, Katrine Marcal, to point out the obvious in Who Cooked Adam Smith’s Dinner?

The reason, Alex Soojung-Kim Pang, that your male scientists and artists had so much time to relax and ponder and take walks after a lunch they had not prepared in clothes they had not washed and put away in a house they had not cleaned was because someone else was doing all the damn work.


Miles’ book came out decades ago.

Back when I still stupid voted.

Back when I didn’t even question the world around me because it was the world around me and that’s just how it was.

(In 1988, when a friend suggested we could wear pants to work, I was horrified. That was simply not done. I didn’t wear pants to work until the early 2000s.)

(I was an idiot.)

I am trying to make up for it now.

The few the proud

Fish don’t see water

Photo by Harrison Haines on Pexels.com

At my old job, I needed to talk to a male VP – a middle-aged white guy. Let’s call him Mike.

I had spoken to Mike many times on the phone, but we had never met, as he worked out of another office. He was in our office for a meeting and I caught him at a break. I knew what he looked like, so approached him and started talking to him.

He interrupted me. “Are you Texan?” he asked.

Oh right. I had not introduced myself! Rude!

“Yes,” I answered. “But how did you know?”

“I recognized the sound of your voice,” he replied.

“How bizarre!” I said. “You must be really good at voices, considering there are so many women at this company!”

The only other woman in the room, Cynthia, started laughing so hard that she almost fell out of her chair.

Mike looked puzzled.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

Cynthia was laughing so hard she couldn’t speak.

I just rolled my eyes.

Will nobody think about the falsely-accused men?

Nobody has it harder than white men. Nobody.

From one of the many “What Were You Wearing” exhibits showing the clothes women were wearing when they were raped.

There are many reasons I do not take Uber or other rideshares, not the least because even now, I still have it drummed into my head never to get into a car with a stranger and the news is full of stories about how Uber is failing to address the rape problem it has with its drivers.

(The other reason is that rideshare companies exploit the drivers, taking so much of the revenue that drivers are basically just monetizing their cars. I did the math with a driver once – I had to take one for work because we were not allowed to rent a car if Uber was available – and the only way he made any money was because he could do his own repairs.)

(Also, this driver was a jerk. He’d had a factory job with insurance, but his divorce decree said he had to provide insurance for his children if it was available to him through his job, so he quit the factory job to drive instead – as an independent contractor with no benefits – so he wouldn’t be spending that money on the extra premiums.)


I made the stupid mistake of reading the comments on a New York Times story about Uber and rape and sure enough, the “BUT WHAT ABOUT THE MEEEEEENNNNN” guys appeared pretty darn quick.

You know – the ones who – any time women talk about rape and how most rapes are not reported and the ones that are are rarely prosecuted and when they are prosecuted, the defense focuses on the victim’s clothing and sexual history etc etc etc.


Speaking of a victim’s sexual history:

Mr T’s nephew – the one who has gone full MAGA – was accused of sexual assault a few years ago. We know this only because the nephew asked Mr T to send $5,000 from the nephew’s trust to a lawyer for “pre-trial investigation.”

We never got all the details, but the best we can figure is that the “pre-trial investigation” was really “finding any possible evidence that the victim had had sex before and had communicated with the rapist and maybe met him for a date therefore it is not rape.”

The DA did not prosecute the nephew’s case.

Nephew’s father told Mr T that nephew had been exonerated.

Nephew is dead to both Mr T and me.


Back to the Uber story about rape and how Uber keeps drivers accused of assault on the road (and about Uber’s mild, pathetic attempts to offer a women-only service that men cried about because again, allowing women to select only women drivers is so unfair to men).

John is very concerned about the men who are falsely accused. That is the biggest issue society faces today. Not the rape of women. But the false accusations of men.

Many “claims” we’re never proven or outright falsely alleged. I know this is a sore subject for women but it’s even sorer subject for men being falsely accused. Now if these claims were proven with corroborating evidence than the drivers should be terminated

John

Uber thinks the solution is more training.

Hopefully this article will be a wake-up call for the ride share industry. If a driver requires seeing a video to understand they shouldn’t sexually assault someone…then why are they hiring them in the first place.

Kath in Houston

I think the solution is enough men yes men because they are the ones making these decisions with the balls to do the right thing.

I know. It won’t happen.

Until then, my friends, do not get into a car with a man you do not know.

Are you CEO wife material?

Can you do the emotional labor for your partner’s – oh heck let’s say it your husband’s – job?

It seemed like Samantha’s only purpose in life was to cater to Darrin and that the only way she could do so was because she could use magic. Source

I thought the days of women who existed solely to support their husband’s careers were over.

Not far from over, but over.

And yet, my friend’s Silicon Valley Google/Facebook/tech bro ex-husband told her that the reason he needed to divorce her was because she was not – and I quote – “CEO wife material.”


When their kids were little, my friend Layla’s husband was told to spend a week at an off-site meeting. And to bring his wife.

Layla and Malik had just moved to Fargo. They had no family there. They had made no friends. Layla had her own job as a nurse. How on earth was she supposed to drop everything and go out of town for a week with Malik? Who would watch their children? How would she get time off from work?


I have another friend who to this day always dresses nicely when she leaves the house, even to walk the dogs. I think she might do this no matter her life situation – she is not a slob like me, but one of the reasons she does it is because her husband is a big shot and she doesn’t want to be seen doing anything not appropriate for the wife of big shot.

(Also they are in Dallas, which matters for this story. If they lived in Minneapolis or Milwaukee, my guess is it wouldn’t matter so much – the Midwest is so much more practical about these things.)

(Or even if they were in Fort Worth. But Dallas – whew, Dallas is its own thing for sure.)

She is not expected to produce supper at the last minute when Darrin brings Larry home without warning, but her husband could never have reached his position without her hard work. He acknowledges this and he, too, has worked extremely hard. They deserve everything they have earned. But the truth remains that he could not have put in 60-hour work weeks unless he had had her support.


All that emotional labor? I guess it’s Women’s Work, according to a Bad Guy on Elsbeth.

“All that schmoozing and glad-handing,” says the judge who is actually a murderer and presided over the trial of the innocent person he framed for the murder. “It’s so undignified. Leave the pleasantries to the wives.”


But when men actually do have CEO wives, they don’t want to acknowledge it. Remember when Lorna Wendt and her GE Capital Services CEO husband divorced? She said she deserved half of everything because without her, he never would have reached his position.

Her high-school sweetheart husband of decades said she had nothing to do with his achievements.

Gary Wendt denied his wife contributed to his success, saying in court that she had no interest in business and she wasn’t interested in his problems, leaving him very lonely in the marriage.”

The facts (including, I think I read once, that she would stand next to him at work parties and cue him about the other attendees: “That’s Bob and Betty. Their oldest kid just got into Yale. Remember we had them over for dinner last summer?”) would seem otherwise.

Also, Gary, were you interested in her problems? Were you interested in your children’s problems? Did you know the names of your children’s friends and teachers and doctors? Did you take them to get their vaccinations and physicals? Did you organize their overnights and summer camp? Do you think she might have been busy taking care of every single detail at home so you could focus on work?

In the case, Mrs. Wendt presented herself as someone who had helped put her husband through Harvard Business School, gave up her career as a music teacher to rear two daughters, created an elegant home, gave dinner parties for his clients and co-workers, accompanied him on business trips and provided daily support — all of which contributed to his success.

New York Times

(Don’t you love how the Times says that Lorna “presented herself” as opposed to stating things as fact? It would be pretty easy to verify that someone did indeed work while her husband attended grad school, then quit her job to raise the children rather than hire a full-time nanny, then threw dinner parties and accompanied him on trips. These are all facts. Not speculation.)

The courts were all, “But is it really work for a spouse to take care of everything at home?”

But the case — which also sparked countless office water-cooler arguments and much concern in C-suites — also hinged on two tricky legal questions.

One was whether a stay-at-home wife should be considered an equal partner for the sake of dividing marital assets that had been largely, or completely, acquired as a result of the corporate husband’s job.

Connecticut law requires an “equitable distribution” of marital assets — not an automatic 50-50 split. And “equitable” in the courts often translated into “not nearly as much as 50 percent” for many stay-at-home corporate wives.

CNBC

Lorna did the work that men do not value and do not want to do themselves. She did the emotional labor. (Emphasis mine.)

She later told Fortune, “I complemented him by keeping the home fires burning and by raising a family and by being CEO of the Wendt corporation and by running the household and grounds and social and emotional ties so he could get out and work very hard at what he was good at.”

CNBC

She earned every cent.


I would have made a lousy CEO wife. I hate dressing up and washing my hair and putting on makeup even for formal occasions, much less for running to the store or the library or anything where exercise clothes and a ponytail will do. I hate being nice to people just because they are “important.” I hate work suppers and making small talk with people I can’t be honest with.

I don’t even know the other rules for being a CEO wife. They are as opaque to me as the rules for being CEO itself. (Although I know one main CEO rule – be in possession of a white penis.)

I am not CEO wife material. I am not CEO material.


My friend’s ex?

Still not a CEO.

Apparently ditching the inappropriate wife and picking up a younger model and having the oh so essential white penis is not enough.

But thanks to California’s community property laws, he has lost half his wealth in the process with no debate about if his wife had anything to do with his success.

Oh well.