Have you seen this little “gem” floating around social media? If you’re a woman, did it make you feel better about yourself? Did you read this and think, “See, all these little flaws are okay because I’m a woman and that’s how we are!”?
Read it again.
When I read this, I wanted to reach through my computer screen and rip it up. Of all the insipid fluff that clogs up social media, this is one of the most detestable fluff-balls.
Let’s dissect this piece of nonsense.
Yes, I’m a woman. I push doors that clearly say pull.
I’m a woman. I pull doors that say pull because I have eyes and a brain. Yes, I have eyes and a brain. Yes, women have eyes and brains. Crazy, I know.
On the rare occasion that I push a door that clearly says pull, it is because I am distracted, I am drunk, or because I am a writer and my brain is busy on that tricky part of chapter 3 that I just can’t figure out. If I push a door that clearly says pull that action has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I have a vagina.
Guess what? I’ve seen men push doors that clearly say pull. Does that make them women?
The subtle message in this opening line is that women are goofy and stupid but that they should be proud of that instead of perhaps acknowledging that both men and women occasionally do stupid, goofy things.
I laugh harder when I try to explain why I am laughing.
This has never been a problem for the men I know. Men can be in the middle of the biggest fit of hysterical laughter in their life but then stop on a dime to explain in clear and logical terms exactly what it is that is making them laugh.
I walk into a room and forget why I was there.
Forget the glass ceiling ladies! Our real problem is that we are constantly walking into rooms and forgetting why we are there. Our male co-workers and bosses should know this and always provide us with written instructions when we venture out into another room.
This is probably why there has never been a female president or prime minister in the US or Canada. Can you imagine the global embarrassment when our nation’s leader walks out to deliver a speech and suddenly goes all glassy eyed.
“What am I doing here, again?” she whispers to Vladimir Putin.
I hide the pain from my loved ones.
What kind of pain? Is your appendix about to burst? Maybe you might want to mention that. If not to your loved ones, perhaps to the 911 operator?
Is it emotional pain? Because if that’s the case you’re not doing so well at this whole “hiding” business based on the roughly one thousand emotion-related Facebook posts I’ve seen you make.
And why are you hiding this pain? You know withholding information is a form of control, don’t you? What you’re really saying is that you don’t trust your loved ones enough to let them decide how to handle an unpleasant truth.
And getting back to the whole women thing, most of the women I know are pretty good about sharing their pain, and everything else. Most women I know are frustrated by their male partner’s lack of communication, not their own. Hmmmm…
I say it is a long story when it’s really not.
I cry a lot more than you think I do.
Maybe the person you’re addressing this to cries a lot more than you think they do. How do you know? Maybe we’re all crying a lot more than anyone thinks we are—male and female alike.
I actually cry slightly more than probably most people think I do. Or maybe I don’t. I’ve never asked people how much they think I cry. In any case, I don’t really care what anybody thinks of my tear output. It’s not as if Vegas is taking bets on how much I cry. I cry. It happens. I feel better when it’s over. Mission accomplished.
I care about people who don’t care about me.
Well, then you’re an idiot. Sorry, but it’s time somebody broke that to you. Being a woman does not give you a free pass to be an emotional martyr.
I know lots of people who care about people who don’t care about them. Do you know what they’re called? Parents of teenagers, that’s what. Or maybe just “family” because there’s lots of unrequited caring that goes on in families—men, women, children, adults, all equally guilty.
Outside of your family (and sometimes inside of it), why would you waste your energy on someone who does not care about you? Why not take that energy and spend it on the very nice people who do care about you? I bet they would love that extra energy and …BAM…win/win situation.
I try to do things before the microwave beeps.
I don’t own a microwave but if I did I would not use that as a time management system. I have a clock on my smart phone!
I listen to you even when you don’t listen to me.
Aaaaaaaand we’re back to expending energy on people who don’t care about us. *facepalm*
And a big hug will always help.
…unless my appendix is bursting, in which case I would prefer speedy medical attention.
How is this a woman thing? Men, do you hate hugs? Do hugs not help men? Has my husband been lying to me all these years?
Yes, I’m a woman!
Just in case you’d forgotten. See…vagina!
All the Ugh!
What I hate about this schlek is that it takes a whole raft of non-flattering behaviours and emotions and attributes them solely to women. On top of that, we’re clearly supposed to look at these acts of goofiness, stupidity, and emotional masochism with a sense of feminine pride. I am a stupid doormat, hear me roar!
This schlek makes me want to scream because it’s a trick. It’s designed to make women feel good about themselves while it simultaneously reinforces all kinds of terrible female stereotypes.
How about this: Let’s change “woman” to “human”. Better? A bit. It’s not perfect but it’s not quite as offensive. We all do stupid things now and then because we’re human. We all cry and care too much for the wrong people sometimes because we’re human.
But it’s still not great. There’s a big leap from “These are things I do that many other people do because we’re fallible and don’t always get it right” to “I behave poorly but I’m proud of that and you have to accept me as I am!”
So let me try my revised version of this schlek…
Yes, I am human. Sometimes I push doors that are clearly marked pull but mostly I do not. Like most non-psychopaths, I laugh harder when I try to explain what I’m laughing about. You should probably wait until I’m finished laughing before you ask for an explanation. I do walk into rooms and sometimes forget why I’m there but that has more to do with age-related memory degradation or possibly stress than anything else. If you notice that I am always forgetting things, there may be a more seriously problem and we should consult my doctor. I don’t hide my pain from the people I care about because I love and trust them and I know they will do their best to help ease that pain. I strive to give an accurate estimate of the length of my stories before I tell them. How much do you think I cry? Once I have the answer, I will let you know how close you came to guessing the real amount. I don’t waste my time on people who don’t care about me, which means I have more time and energy to spend on the people who do care about me! Yay! I don’t own a microwave. I do own a clock. I do well with time management although I do have a tendency to forget about the soup on the stove while I’m writing. (I should start setting a timer). I always try to practice active listening but I don’t waste my time on people who don’t listen to me. I think that’s fair. I love hugs! Do you love hugs? Yes? Here’s a hug! Yes, I am human, just like you*.
*Unless you are a robot or an alien.
Yep. Much better.