When the world is still a Männerclub and our pee-pee emergencies are true emergencies

Peeing is my life.

I feel like half my life is spent looking for someplace to pee and the other half is spent in the line waiting for that place to pee.

I spend another half worrying about not being able to pee if I need to.

If you’re any good at math, you will notice that I spend more than my entire life on peeing and you are correct.

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But – don’t we all worry about not being able to pee if we need to?

And don’t we all plan our day accordingly?

My friend’s 8th grade daughter was passing out at school. (Was that it? Some kind of serious symptom, anyhow.)

They finally figured out that she was super dehydrated.

Because she wouldn’t drink anything during the school day.

Because the school restrooms were problematic.

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Not having a place to pee is actually a thing. It’s a way women have been and are controlled.

It’s called the urinary leash.

In the olden days, they didn’t have public restrooms for women. Because women weren’t supposed to stray that far from the house.

Women weren’t supposed to pee. Or at least to be known to pee. It was unladylike.

(Upper-class women, that is. Working-class women were a whole other thing, as they are now. Some things never change.)

When the suffragettes started getting together, one of the things they had to find was a place to meet where they could pee.

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One of the reasons there were no public toilets for women in London in 1878 is because the city councils in London, which consisted of all men, wouldn’t vote for them.

One of the reasons the city councils consisted of men who wouldn’t vote in favor of women’s issues was because women couldn’t vote.

One of the reasons women couldn’t vote is because it was hard for them to find places to meet where they could pee. If you can’t meet for an extended period of time, you can’t plan and organize.

Notice that technological changes, most notably the London Underground Railway, led to socioeconomic changes — “increasing number[s] of women (working)” outside the home — which, in turn, raised issues related to women’s “health and social morality,” which could be resolved if each district in London were to support a pay toilet for women with one free stall — and an attendant to ensure “social morality.” The all-male local councils of London were unresponsive to this request, but their debates over the proposed use of public funds brought the issue of women’s bodily needs out of the closet and into the pages of the Times.

Of Moral Reform and Equal Rights to Respectable Peeing, The MIT Press Reader

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I toured an old hotel that was built and operated in the 1850s in Wisconsin. There was no indoor plumbing. At night, guests used the chamber pot under the bed. If you were sleeping on the floor in the big communal room on the third floor – that is, the cheap place, which of course you wouldn’t do if you were a woman because what woman would sleep in a room with total strangers (unless you didn’t have the 30 cents it cost for a private room versus the one penny it cost for the communal room, which could have been some women so yeah – there you are – women on the floor with strangers, not sleeping very well), you used the chamber pot in the corner of the room.

The chamber pot. The one chamber pot.

In the morning, the 12 year old hired girl, who lived in and who slept in the larder, had to empty all the chamber pots. Which meant she had to climb down from the third floor to the first floor carrying a pot of pee and poop, over and over. Including in the winter.

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In the book Stasiland, Anna Funder describes her tour of the museum of the former Stasi headquarters.

We pass a toilet with “H” for “Herren” on it. “They only needed a men’s bathroom,” she says. “Women couldn’t get past colonel rank and there were just three of them anyway. This was a Männerclub.”

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I was in the front yard. My neighbor’s four year old came racing up the sidewalk.

“Hi N!” I called. “What’s goin—“

“PEE-PEE EMERGENCY!” she yelled at me as she ran past me to her front door. “PEE-PEE EMERGENCY!”

Oh honey. Get used to it.

Fourth-grade girls know what’s going on and they are not having it but the Patriarchy is still strong so let’s keep working

After talking to my friend’s fourth-grade daughter, Claire, today, I have a little more confidence in the future.

Claire is obsessed with Greek mythology, so I asked if she had read Madeline Miller’s Circe.

Me: Do you know who Circe was?

Claire: Yes!

Me: She turned the sailors into pigs and she’s often portrayed as a bad guy, but she really wasn’t. This story is told from her perspective and when the story is told from the woman’s perspective, it changes everything.

Claire: My teacher says you have to pay attention to the origin story. Women get blamed for things! Like Eve! And Pandora! (Only it wasn’t Pandora’s box, it was Pandora’s jar.)

Me (jaw dropping as I look at my friend): Exactly!

Claire: The sailors deserved it.

Me: They did!

Me: Do you know who Medusa is?

Claire (too polite to roll her eyes): Yes.

Me: She is also portrayed as bad but she’s not.

Claire: She caught Poseidon’s eye. It was in Athena’s temple and Athena turned her hair into snakes.

Me: What do we learn from this?

Claire: Hmmmmm.

Claire: We learn not to be too beautiful.

Me (trying to figure out how to talk about this without using the word “rape” with a ten year old): Well, that’s not exactly where I was going with this. Maybe it’s more that Athena shouldn’t have punished Medusa when Medusa hadn’t done anything wrong? Maybe it’s that women need to support each other? And protect each other from bad men?

Claire: OK. But if the gods want you, there’s nothing you can do about it.

Me: Yeah. We have to fix that, too.

Me: I think it’s cool that you are learning all this and thinking about it! You have to fight and improve the world for women because I can’t finish before I die.

Claire: No! I just want to be a librarian!

Me (that counts)

Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar

A college friend, Theo, wrote this on facebook:

Some of these women want full blown relationship activities & won’t even tell you where they live… smh…

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His women friends responded with what is obvious to almost all women: Dating can be dangerous for women. And we are not going to tell you where we live until we trust you. I didn’t even give a former boyfriend my real name until we had been emailing for a few weeks. (We met on a dating site.) And I sure didn’t give him my address until we had gone on a few dates, meeting in public places.

My relationship with Mr T accelerated to the six-month point in weeks because his best friend since our freshman year of college, who also happened to be a friend of mine, vouched for him.

Of course, this is no guarantee. I’m sure that there are abusive, bad men who have fooled outsiders, but I think – maybe I’m wrong – that’s it’s a good sign when men have long-term friends.

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The female responses to “Why won’t this woman tell my friend where she lives?”

Me: Because women do what they need to do to try to stay safe.

Theo: Are women really in that much danger?

Me: This is a serious question: Do you read the news? Yes. Women are in danger. I read that on a blind date, men worry that they will be bored or that she will be unattractive. Women worry that we will be raped and/or murdered.

Theo: I know women worry about those things, but does it actually happen that often?

1 out of every 6 American women has been the victim of an attempted or completed rape in her lifetime.

RAINN

Theo: I can’t say I know anyone that was murdered on a first date? Or sexually assaulted on a blind or first date. I’m not trying to be insensitive because I know women should take some precautions, but I think a lot of women are victims of watching too much Lifetime channel.

Question to my readers: How many of you have experienced sexual assault or date rape?

Another question to my readers: How many of you have shared this information with the Theos in your life?

Me: Every woman I know has experienced some kind of undesirable behavior from men. And yes, because some women have been murdered on a date, we have to worry that we might be the next one. Predators can be very charming. Ted Bundy wasn’t repulsive. I was five the first time a man showed me his penis and asked me to go into the men’s room at the park. I’m not the only woman with this experience. So yeah. We are wary.

Ted Bundy kidnapped, raped and murdered dozens of young women and girls during the 1970s and possibly earlier. After more than a decade of denials, he confessed to 30 murders committed in seven states between 1974 and 1978. His true victim total is unknown.

Wikipedia

Theo: Over the years, I have often heard parents say they couldn’t leave their daughters in certain company. I guess since I didn’t have sisters I never had any first hand knowledge of any kind of abuse. I didn’t run into anyone that confided in me that they’d been raped until I was in grad school. The stories were horrible, but none of them reported the incidents. I never understood why.

Question to my readers: If you have been date raped, why didn’t you report it hahahaha.

Me: Because the first question is “But what were you wearing?”

Theo’s Female Friend #1: because many family members either don’t believe them or blame them. Had a friend who was practically kicked out of her family for telling on her uncle, who was a deacon and pillar in her community.

Theo: If the law has been broken, and I’ve been violated, I wouldn’t care what questions you asked me, I’m telling!

Oh yeah I’m sure if you were raped you would go to the police, Theo.

Female friend #2: I’m a 58 yr old Army Vet and currently a hairstylist. 98% of women I know has experienced some sort of sexual violation from a man. We have learned to push it down into our subconscious so we’re functional but it’s ALWAYS a thought…it could possibly happen again.

Theo: As a hair stylist I’m sure you probably come in contact with women from all walks of life. Are these predominantly single women, young women, low income women, professional or educated women? I mean, America isn’t Pakistan or South Africa. Our rates of assault aren’t that high. What would they say was the most common contributing factor? Were there any commonalities in their incidents?

According to the World Population Review, Pakistan has no reported rapes.

The reported rate of rape in the US is 27.31. (2010)

For Sweden, it’s 63.54. (2010)

For South Africa, it’s 72.10. (2019)

For India, it’s 1.81. (2010)

It doesn’t take a lot of imagination to understand why rape would not be reported in Pakistan. It’s barely reported in the US.

World Population Review

Female friend #3: this is why women don’t disclose. Questions like u just asked…what’s their education level, ethnicity, why her? Not, I see why the wariness and caution. How can I prove to women that I can be trusted? Just ‘what is it about these women and it has nothing to do with me.’

Not all men!

FF #1: she could have some underlying issues that she hasn’t disclosed. You would be shocked at the number of women who have been victims of molestation, rape and date rapes. No, this isn’t Pakistan but women have always and continue to be looked upon as prey for men in some way. Even the most educated, well known, wealthy women have experienced it. Status and race doesn’t matter.

FF #2: the commonality is they’re women….the fact that you’re so surprised and think EDUCATION & INCOME are factors speaks volumes…but to answer they’re age twenties to eighties and income level 60% very high income 20% average and 20% low income  I guess you’re missing the point that it is very common for most women to have experienced some sort of UNWANTED sexual contact with a man.

Theo: I am somewhat shocked to hear that most women have some sort of horror story associated with inappropriate male interactions. I can’t say I’ve ever been made aware of many of my former girlfriends or friend girls being assaulted. The ones that have shared those types of details speak of it as something from the distant past.

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The male responses to “Why won’t this woman tell my friend where she lives?”

She has a boyfriend!

She has a husband!

She’s using him for money!

Can’t we sometimes just ask a friend for a favor without being expected to sign a contract with a 7% commission and without multiple 5:00 a.m. texts?

Also, DUDE NO MEANS NO AND ALSO SOMETIMES A LACK OF YES MEANS NO

My dear friend, Sally, who is only 29, is stuck executing her mom’s estate after her mom’s sudden and unexpected death, a death that has left us all reeling but has been especially hard on Sally, who was very close to her mom.

Sally is ready to sell her mom’s house.

Sally’s best friend, Sue, is married to a man, Pushy, who just got his realtor’s license. He has never sold a house before. He has a non-realtor day job.

A few months ago, Pushy suggested to Sally that he might sell the house for her.

Sally is a very agreeable, non-conflict seeking person, so she just said, “Yeah we can think about that!”

A few weeks ago, Sally asked Sue and Pushy for their opinions – as friends but also with Pushy’s real-estate insights – as to what she needed to do to the house to finish preparing it for sale. Pushy gave her some good ideas and referred her to a contractor who actually *showed up,* which was amazing, as Sally has been trying for months to complete a major renovation project that her mom had started. (The original contractor had long since abandoned the project.)

Last week, Pushy asked to Sally to review a formal written proposal for him to be her agent.

They went through a very long contract that included Pushy doing things (for money) that Sally has already arranged to be done herself, including deep cleaning the house and gardening, and that included a 7% commission.

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SEVEN PERCENT

Y’all.

Have you *ever* heard of anyone paying a 7% commission to a realtor?

I haven’t.

I googled to see if maybe things have changed and I don’t know anymore.

Nope.

Five to six percent is standard.

Years ago, when Mr T was selling his mom and dad’s house, his obnoxious brother told him that “Six percenters are laughed out of the room” and that Mr T should have insisted on a five percent commission.

(I will note that Mr T’s brother has never actually sold a house, so I’m not sure why he’s so confident of his opinion, but he has a penis and he is a total jerk, so there you go.)

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Sally told Pushy she needed to talk to her lawyer before signing anything. (Sally is a very smart young woman.)

Since then, Pushy has been texting her many times a day, including at 5:00 a.m., even though she has told him she will get back to him when she’s ready.

Sue texted Sally a photo of Sue and Pushy mulching their yard.

That is not the sort of thing Sue usually sends to Sally.

Pushy texted that of course the commission is negotiable and that he was offering Sally the “premium” package to ensure that they could sell the house quickly.

Pushy also texted that Sally should tell her lawyer that he had helped by recommending a contractor and that he was willing to negotiate the commission and that he was willing to mulch, even fronting the cash for the mulch out of his own pocket.

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Decades ago, my mom got her real estate license. During her classes, they told her to create a sense of obligation in her clients by buying them lunch.

(They also told her that in the past, agents had gotten around Fair Housing laws by indicating non-white buyers – this was in San Antonio, so that would have meant Black or Mexican-American buyers – by writing their names in all capital letters. Selling agents would know to decline an offer that had the name in all caps. Some people are just evil.)

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When I was looking for a place to live in Memphis, a real-estate agent showed me a few houses. After she dropped me back at my car, she asked what I was doing the rest of the day. I told her I was going to eat lunch at the Vietnamese restaurant I had seen earlier.

“I’ll go with you!” she announced.

I did not want to eat lunch with her, but I was surprised and I had not yet learned The Southern No, so I suffered through lunch with her. She insisted on paying for my lunch over my protests. I did not want to be obligated to her in any way.

If someone tried this today, I would know how to head her off.

“Oh that’s so kind of you but I’m afraid I simply have to get some work done while I eat” or – this is The Southern No – a sincere (except not really) desire to to the thing coupled with a warm decline and no reason for the decline (so nothing to argue with): “Thank you so much I wish I could but I just can’t!”

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A work friend asked me to drive her to the shop to pick up her car. It was about 15 minutes out of my way – no big deal.

As she got out of the car, she dug into her purse and then pulled out a five dollar bill.

“Thank you!” she said, as she handed the money to me.

I was confused.

“For gas!” she said.

I laughed. “Girl! You insult me! You’re my friend and I don’t charge my friends.”

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Mr T saw a specialist who recommended a series of tests after Mr T had a certain baseline test. (He’s fine, we think.)

Mr T had a lot of questions and felt like the doctor had just thrown him onto a conveyor belt and he didn’t think the testing was necessary.

We had a friend who practices the same speciality. He’s not even a close friend, but he’s a long-term college friend.

Mr T asked College Friend if he would review Specialist notes and baseline test results. College Friend said OF COURSE and spent an hour on the phone with Mr T, talking him through everything.

We do not expect a bill.

We do not expect a contract.

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Sally doesn’t want to affect her friendship and she’s worried about how Pushy, who clearly has no boundaries, will react to a “no.”

She is also is feeling conflicted because Pushy has done her a favor and she feels the need to reciprocate.

I told Sally about my mom’s class and how they were taught to create that sense of obligation.

“That’s why Pushy wanted to buy coffee for my sister and me!” she gasped. “He’s never bought coffee for me before!”

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Sally’s lawyer was no help. She said that Sally could say that her lawyer told her she cannot sign a contract for above-market commission, but I pointed out that Pushy has already said that he is willing to reduce the commission.

And Pushy just keeps pushing.

Rural Wisconsin motto: We’ve never even met a Black person but we still hate them!

The great state of Wisconsin, which fought on the Union side and refused to recognize the Fugitive Slave Act, is full of racists.

Are you shocked?

Don’t be.

Wisconsin is actually one of the most if not the most racist place I have ever lived and I have lived in the deep south.

The difference between the south and Wisconsin, my Black friends tell me, is that in the south, the racists let you see them coming, although this seems to be changing for the worse in Wisconsin. (Thank you Trump.)

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The racists have never had a problem letting me see them coming.

I’m not sure what to think about that, but I’m pretty sure it’s not a compliment.

That is, it’s not a compliment from my perspective that a racist would think it’s OK to be racist around me.

I don’t want to be a safe space for racists.

I want racists to be afraid to show themselves around me.

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Over 20 years ago, my aunt and uncle were visiting me. My uncle casually used the n word.

I was stunned into silence, but then I was stunned into speaking.

“Uncle,” I said carefully, “I don’t like to hear that word in my home.”

He got defensive and started to bluster.

Because basically, I was accusing him of being a racist.

Which he was.

And he knew being a racist was a bad thing.

(He has since become a Trumper, which I had hoped would not happen but it did. In 2015, he hated Trump, but I guess he got over it.)

(And what’s even sadder is that in person, he is so, so lovely. How can that kind of evil hide behind such apparent kindness? And why?)

(And is someone truly kind if he votes for Trump?)

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A few years later, my other uncle was at my mom and dad’s place. He said the n word as well. I calmly – as I now had experience – repeated my words: “Uncle, I don’t like to hear that word.”

He also blustered.

My mother later told me that I was rude and inhospitable.

You don’t correct a guest in your home, she said.

I told her that I was not going to be the one watching as the Nazis loaded the Jews on the trains.

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I have not heard either of my uncles use the word since.

I don’t know if they have used it around other people.

They probably have.

But they have not used it around me.

Now they know that it’s not acceptable around me.

Which means they know that it’s not acceptable in some cases.

Which means they know.

They. Know.

Everybody knows.

And some of them still do it anyhow.

I don’t know how to fix society. But I do know how to let the people around me know that I will not tolerate their shit.

Jerks are gonna jerk

It’s OK if a cat licks your face.

Some people might even say it’s OK if a dog licks your face. (I am not one of those people, but I accept that other people are fine with it.)

And it’s OK if someone you know and to whom you have given permission to licks your face, although I don’t know if that’s something that’s part of most people’s repetoire.

I think we can all agree that it’s not OK for a relative stranger to lick your face.

And yet, that’s what happened the first time my cousin, Liz, met Mr T.

We were at a family reunion. I introduced Liz to Mr T and she leaned over and dragged her tongue up the side of his face.

Then she leaned over to my sister’s boyfriend, whom she was also meeting for the first time, and did the same thing.

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We all avoided Liz, whom we dubbed “Licking Liz” for the next (now minus 2006) years.

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Mr T’s older brother, Lex, has never been my favorite.

He invited himself to our wedding, which I was not happy about, but I guess actually turned out OK as he offered a great service by driving Mr T’s parents around while they were drunk, keeping them away from Mr T and me and the people whose presence I wanted to enjoy.

But when Mr T’s parents died – they share a father but Mr T’s father abandoned his two little boys and his first wife to marry Mr T’s mother, Lex was angry that the parents had disinherited him.

Lex was angry at Mr T.

The parents also disinherited Mr T and Mr T was not involved in writing the will, but whatever.

He was also angry that Mr T was the executor, saying that primogeniture meant that he, Lex, should be executor. I was with Lex on this one, as being executor is a major pain in the neck and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone I liked.

After their father’s funeral, Lex sent Mr T a “tally” (he loves that word. He also talks about getting on the “telly” with Mr T, only he doesn’t mean the TV, he means the phone. Maybe he has dementia?) for his and his family’s travel expenses (including the expensive parking at the airport) to the funeral.

A little audacious but hey why not try?

Lex said that Mrs Lex’s mother’s estate was reimbursing them for their travel to Mrs Lex’s mom’s place. (Except Mrs Lex’s mother wasn’t dead, so it was just Mrs Lex’s mom giving them money.)

But when Mr T refused to reimburse Lex $800 a ticket for the flights Lex had gotten with frequent flyer miles and that Lex could have bought for under $400 each, Lex called Mr T and screamed at him.

He then followed up with an angry email telling Mr T never to DARE to treat him like that again.

And then he sent several condescending emails, telling Mr T he was sorry for him and he was learning things about Mr T that he had not known before and didn’t like.

When Lex asked Mr T about a bracelet that Mr T’s mother had promised Mrs Lex, Mr T found his mom’s jewelry and sent all of it to Lex.

Lex replied that Mrs Lex had taken the bracelets to a jeweler and they were all costume jewelry and suggested that Mr T was keeping the good stuff for me.

That is, he accused Mr T of stealing.

1. I wanted nothing to do with anything that had ever touched Mr T’s parents’ bodies.
2. Mr T had sent them everything he had found and had even talked to the jeweler his dad used to use to make sure he had all his mom’s jewelry.

Lex’s anger and outbursts led his best friend of decades to break up with him.

Any time Mr T would see Lex’s number on his phone, he would feel sick to his stomach.

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Mr T has had to deal with Lex since their dad died because Mr T was also the trustee for the money that Lex’s child inherited from their father.

(I won’t even go into how Lex has tried to drain his own child’s trust for things like European vacations and remodeling his house.)(Or how he has insisted that Mr T put trust money into very speculative investments that later had to be undone at great hassle to Mr T.)(But he has done these things.)

Last year, Lex’s screaming at Mr T came up. I don’t remember if Mr T mentioned it or Lex brought it up.

Lex dismissed his rages: “Oh yeah I used to get high a lot.”

That was it.

That was all he said.

That was his apology.

That he used to get high.

As if that meant he was not responsible?

As if all could be forgiven?

As if Mr T should wipe the slate clean?

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I saw my cousin Liz last week at a family event.

She was warm and kind and funny and acted with complete decorum.

At the end of the evening, I joked that I appreciated that she hadn’t licked my husband this time.

“What?!” she asked.

“Thank you for not licking Mr T this time!” I told her.

“I did that?” she asked.

I laughed. “Yes. When you first met him at the family reunion.”

Her jaw dropped.

“I am SO SORRY,” she said. “Oh my gosh I am sorry. I must have been drinking. I don’t do that anymore. I am so sorry.”

She didn’t remember but she acknowledged that it had happened. And she apologized.

All is forgiven.

We have wiped the slate clean.

That’s how it works.

The arbitrage opportunities with food

also

Give me liberty or give me death

I did not grow up in an eating-out house. When I was a freshman in college, my dad made $32,000 a year. When Mr T started his first job out of college a few years later, he made $30,000 a year.

Think of that.

Someone 25 years into his career being paid only a little bit more than someone starting his career.

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We almost never went out to eat when I was a kid.

My mom and dad took me out for my birthday once. Another time, we went to a pizza restaurant with a family we were visiting. And I remember going to Wendy’s when it first opened and to a Burger King once, but other than that, I honestly cannot remember eating at a restaurant with my family.

On road trips, my mom packed a cooler and we ate sandwiches. She would get milk at the store and we would have cereal for breakfast. Our family vacations, when we weren’t visiting our grandparents (and staying with them), were camping trips where we took food with us.

For my college graduation, my family drove to Houston from San Antonio, attended the ceremony, took me out for ice cream, and drove back that night.

My uncle visited us when I was in high school and took us to the Golden Corral. My siblings and I were in high heaven. He even let us order soda. I know my mom and dad would have been thinking, “That costs almost as much as a gallon of milk!” I know they thought that because I think that now. I never get soda at a restaurant. Water is free.

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Even now, when I have a bit more money than my parents ever did, I have a super-practical view of eating at restaurants, which is, “Why would I pay a lot more money for something I can do myself?”

That is, I am willing to pay only for items I can’t or won’t make at home. Those items include pho, which I made once and now am very very willing to pay for because it is a ton of work, Thai food, Hawaiian food, and some Mexican foods. I could probably figure all this stuff out, but I am too lazy and I would need to get a lot of specialized ingredients and it probably still wouldn’t taste the same.

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We visited some friends who are of Indian heritage. They took us out to eat at a really nice restaurant and it was lovely, but somehow, it came up in conversation later that we would love to cook Indian food with them.

They were shocked.

But that’s so – ordinary! they responded.

They had thought that cooking the food they eat every day would be kind of boring for us and not special at all.

ARE YOU KIDDING? we answered. A HOME-COOKED INDIAN MEAL WHERE WE GET TO LEARN HOW YOU DO IT?

Ever since then, when we visit, we cook together.

It is so much fun. And so delicious.

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One of my favorite things to do is to cook with friends.

Many of my friends are done done done with cooking – their kids are out of the house and they are thrilled at their newfound freedom, but I’m always a little sad when they want to go out to eat instead of cooking. I know they want to share their favorite places with us and I am honored at that, but I don’t really enjoy the restaurant experience and I worry about who’s paying and really, I miss the days when we cooked together. Those are truly some of my happiest memories with my friends.

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Mr T and I rarely eat out. Most of it is because of covid, but also, we are sort of retired. Or unemployed. Not sure which. But neither of us want to go back to work and we are very willing to make sacrifices to keep from having to.

That is, I would happily never eat in another restaurant again as long as it means I never have to return to the soul-crushing existence of a low-paying corporate job where I am the flunky who gets stuck doing stuff I hate, including creating and sending mass emails at the last minute on the Friday before a three-day weekend.

Restaurants are a luxury I can happily forgo if it means I can have my freedom. I would rather have time than money at this stage of my life. So if any of you ever visit me, I will be cooking for you! Mostly because I love to cook for and with friends, but also because I want to spend my time with you, not at work.

Women can’t do any worse than men have done for all of recorded history

I swear if women ran the world, there would never be another war.

There would never be another hungry child.

There would never be another maternal death.

There would be no more suffering from PMS, cramps, endometriosis, interstitial cystitis, or hot flashes and female pain would be taken seriously.

There would be enough provision in public restrooms so that women wait no longer than men do to pee.

There would be pockets. Pockets deep enough to actually hold things.

There would be comfortable temperatures in common spaces.

Pay disparities? Gone.

Sexual harassment at work? Taken seriously.

Rape? Straight to prison with none of this “Oh but what about the future of this promising young man?”

There would be so many things.

How do I know this?

Two reasons:

Women create legislation to support these goals.

In her proposed apprenticeship bill, Senator Tammy Baldwin has included funding for child and elder care so moms (and dads) can attend school. When a friend got her master’s degree, her two little girls also got diplomas – because they had sat next to her in every class. There was no other way for my friend to attend night school.

Robyn Vining, a Wisconsin state legislator, proposed and got passed legislation about universal changing stations – places in public restrooms where caregivers can change the diapers of someone who is not an infant.

Women cooperate when there are scarce resources

I was in the ladies’ at a music festival. The lines were long (of course) and everyone wanted to get in and get out as quickly as possible so they could get back to the music.

But some of the soap dispensers were out.

Some of the towel dispensers were out.

And some of the stalls lacked toilet paper.

But rather than rush out after they had finished washing their hands, women were directing other women to the soap that worked and helping other women tear off paper towels from the giant rolls of paper that had been placed on top of the towel dispensers.

They were gathering toilet paper from the stalls that had it and waving women in line down to the stalls without paper, handing them the paper as they passed.

Women in stalls without paper were yelling, “I need toilet paper!” and other women were delivering it to them.

Instead of saying, “I got mine so screw the rest of you,” there were women delaying their own happiness and cooperating to make sure that everyone got what she needed.

If nobody has ever written a dissertation called “The Ladies Room: A Model of Community and Cooperation that the Rest of the World Should Follow,” they need to do it now.

I guess if The Patriarchy isn’t The Boss of Us, we regret it?

I posted a photo of a line for the women’s room on facebook and made this comment:

This is one of the many reasons we need to elect more (non-misogynistic) women (who reject the Patriarchal Bargain) into office.

A college friend replied,

they keep expanding the number of bathroom space for women compared to men in Texas. Still doesn’t matter. But yes, it absolutely has everything to do with deep-seated sexism in combination with the self-hatred of an emancipated women.

And I don’t understand his points at all.

In his first point, he says, “they keep expanding the number of bathroom space for women compared to men in Texas. Still doesn’t matter.“

To which I suggest, then expand the bathroom space more as clearly there are still not enough restrooms for complete potty parity.

I mean, obvious, right?

His second point confuses me, though. “it absolutely has everything to do with deep-seated sexism in combination with the self-hatred of an emancipated women.“

Yes, it totally has everything to do with deep-seated sexism! WE KNOW THAT!

But what is this “self-hatred of an emancipated woman?”

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I just noticed this – why can’t it be an “ewomancipated woman?” Why on earth does the word “man” have to be in everything?

It turns out that the “man” refers to hand, not to males.

emancipate (v.)

1620s, “set free from control,” from Latin emancipatus, past participle of emancipare “put (a son) out of paternal authority, declare (someone) free, give up one’s authority over,” in Roman law, the freeing of a son or wife from the legal authority (patria potestas) of the pater familias, to make his or her own way in the world; from assimilated form of ex- “out, away” (see ex-) + mancipare “deliver, transfer or sell,” from mancipum “ownership,” from manus “hand” (from PIE root *man- (2) “hand”) + capere “to take,” from PIE root *kap- “to grasp.” Related: Emancipated; emancipating.

Not used by the Romans in reference to the freeing of slaves, the verb for this being manumittere. The English word was adopted in the jargon of the cause of religious toleration (17c.), then anti-slavery (1776). Also used in reference to women who free themselves from conventional customs (1850).

also from 1620sOnline Etymology Dictionary

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Do you hate yourself?

Now that women have the vote, do you hate yourself?

Now that women can own property, do you hate yourself?

Now that women can get credit cards in their own names, do you hate yourself?

Now that women have options and don’t have to stay with husbands just because they need someone to pay the rent, do you hate yourself?

Yeah.

Me, neither.

GO BIG and TAKE UP SPACE

Mr T, our friend Danielle, and I went to a concert (Earth Wind and Fire and they were FABULOUS) at an outdoor venue. We didn’t have seats and were standing in the back with dozens of other people. It was very very crowded.

Very crowded.

But we could still hear so that was fine.

A young woman behind us started talking to us. She asked Mr T if he had gone to Woodstock.

No. No, he did not.

Mr T laughed. “No, I was a little kid!”

Even if his parents hadn’t held contemporary music in deep disdain (Mr T’s father once said “if only Paul McCartney could sing”), they would not have taken a little boy to a rock festival.

A lecture on global warming, yes.

A music festival, no.

“My parents were born in 1970 so they didn’t go,” she said.

I guess Mr T looks old enough to be her grandfather? 🙂 Although everyone under 40 looks the same to me, so I guess I get it.

This young woman was lovely, though, and curious about our music experiences. She wanted to know how we had first gotten to like EW&F – she was there only because her friend had majored in music in college and wanted to see the band – and was a bit surprised when we explained that in our generation, almost everyone was listening to the same music because you just didn’t have access other than the radio.

“Look at them!” I said. “They are old school – they have the costumes that match and that great choreography!”

“I can’t see,” she answered.

“WHAT?” Danielle asked. Danielle is also a woman of a certain age.

Danielle grabbed the young woman’s hand and I put my hand on her shoulder and we steered her to the front of the crowd.

“You go to the front!” we told her. “You take up space! You are allowed to take up space! TAKE YOUR SPACE!”

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I play a lot of Patriarchy Chicken. Even when I didn’t know that it was a thing and that there was a name for it, I played it.

Patriarchy Chicken is when you don’t move out of the way of men who are walking toward you without paying attention, expecting the waters to part for them.

I will move if I am in the middle of a sidewalk and someone approaches me. I don’t own the entire sidewalk. My part is the part to my right and of course I will yield the left side.

I will always yield the space to my left.

I will not yield the space to my right.

Why should I?

In this culture – in the US, we walk on the right.

If a man is approaching me on my right and his left and his head is down and he’s not looking and he is just expecting everyone to move out of his way – I do not move.

I will stop and stand still rather than move.

I will let him run into me rather than move.

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Mr T and I argue about a specific application of Patriarchy Chicken. He agrees on moving to the right to accommodate approaching walkers on the sidewalk, but he also thinks we should be aware of who’s behind us.

Nope.

I do not have an obligation to the people behind me.

I do not have an obligation to be aware of what’s happening behind me and to adjust my space to make it easier for them.

My space is the right side of wherever.

I don’t have to be extra vigilant just in case someone behind me wants to get past me.

I get to take up space.

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We women are taught to make ourselves small.

We are taught that our bodies are not welcome. (At least, that’s how I interpret the long lines for the ladies while the men waltz in and our with not waiting.)

That we should not be at the front of the line.

That we should be anticipating the needs of those around us and putting those needs before ours.

That we do not get to take up space.

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I’m done with that.

I’m done with that for me and I’m done with that for other women.

Take your space. It’s yours. It’s ours.