News flash: paying bills causes ovary shrinkage. Or something.
Laura // 29 July 2008
EDIT: Oops – I see Holly and I are both into late night masochism when it comes to looking for blog fodder and simultaneously posted on the same infuriating article… Please, don’t read it more than once (assuming you’re made of strong enough stuff to get through it the first time, that is).
From our friends at FeMail:
We’ve worked ourselves half to death in order to conquer the career ladder, yet in the process we’ve trampled our core femininity into the ground.
These days, as a single parent and sole breadwinner, I often feel more masculine than feminine.
Working full-time, making every decision, paying every bill, driving myself everywhere, booking tickets for holidays, lugging the Christmas tree in – it’s all completely de-feminising.
Shit, being in control of your own life really sucks, doesn’t it? As recently as this very afternoon I felt a rather uncomfortable twinge in my groin as I filled my car up with petrol, paid for by my own hard graft, and looked down to see I’d grown a penis!
Seriously, why don’t these FeMail writers spend their days fainting prettily and polishing their fingernails if the freedom feminism continues to grant us is so soul destroying? Do they ever stop and think that maybe they wouldn’t have the privilege of waxing lyrical about the wonders of some mythical internal femininity, based solely on our ability to “yield more and control less”, if it wasn’t for those dastardly feminists who positively forced them to become career women?
It ain’t sisterly, no, but this kind of crap really makes me retch – these are intelligent women using a privileged platform to do nothing but encourage other women to view having control over one’s life as some kind of soul destroying disease (oh, and it also stops men fancying you. Because we all want a guy who’s threatened by you insisting on paying half the bill. Because we all want a guy full stop).
If you don’t like working, and insist on dating guys that are stuck in the dark ages, that’s fine, be my guest. You might want to start by handing in your notice at The Mail. But don’t try and extrapolate your personal preferences and experiences (oh, and your friend Sophie’s) onto half the population. Thanks.