“When I am assertive, I’m a bitch. When a man is assertive, he’s a boss. He bossed up. No negative connotation behind ‘bossed up.’ But lots of negative connotation behind being a bitch. Donald Trump can say, ‘You’re fired.’ Let Martha Stewart run her company the same way and be the same way. [People will say] ‘F—ing old evil bitch!’
Love her or hate her, Nicki Minaj makes a good point. A point that rings loudly in my ears after a conversation I had on the phone last night. A man walks into a store and approaches a woman at the counter. She attempts to give him the impeccable customer service she is known for…the service that has put her just thirteen days away from a corporate position with her company. But this man, this sad little man, does not see a hard working mother of two, a law abiding citizen, a strong willed businesswoman. What he sees is a vagina. And he’s not happy about that.
“Is there a man available to help me? Shouldn’t you be at home or cleaning windows or something?”
He asks for a MANager because he assumes this will bring forth a penis. A respectable penis. A trustworthy penis. An intelligent penis.
“I’m sorry sir, but I am the WOMANager. Now, how can I help you?”
This woman, who happens to be my sister, explains to me how she is baffled by the blatant display of sexism. She is appalled by the sheer audacity of the customer. She is shocked that a black man in his mid forties could be so disgustingly hateful…certain that he has fought his own battles in our society. Why would he dish out the same type of hate that he would resent on his own behalf?
Because, sadly, sexism and racism are not viewed the same. This country is battling the race war, despite the progress made in previous decades. This country is battling a sexuality war, ingrained in religious belief and political agendas. This country doesn’t give a flying fuck about sexism because women have been viewed as and always will be considered the lesser of the human species.
God is a man. Eve came from Adam. Eve fucked everything up because her greedy ass was hungry. She was probably a gluttonous whore. I’ve seen paintings. I bet she had chlamydia. You know how them hoes are. Women are to submit and make babies and strap down their breasts in archaic bindings. Woman are meant to beautify their sexualized forms because every woman is simply a deposit box for a mans seed. Women are meant to be cute and quiet, agreeable and pleasant.
Women are supposed to bleed every month for seven days but keep it on the low because their dirtiness is unappealing to the world. Lets make tampon packages small and adorable so we’re not reminded of the the reality of the body. Women are supposed to doll themselves up and attend college to find a husband that will have them. Women are supposed to work womanly jobs and nurture the youth. Women are supposed to go through an agonizing nine months of discomfort, hip spreading, tit swelling, body morphing, emotional roller coaster to give life to the future…all the while smiling about how fucking great it is to not be able to shit. A woman should be a nurse but not a doctor. A woman should be a teacher but not a principle. A woman should be smart but not too smart. A woman should be strong but never demasculinize her counterpart. A woman should be paid less than a man because that bitch is lucky she even got the job. I bet she’s screwing the boss.
Keep quiet and allow sexism to reign? Speak up and get labeled “a typical emotional woman that can’t take the heat?” There is no winning this war. You can’t fight a battle that has not been waged…because it’s so irrelevant to people. My sister could have been spiteful and said, “you belong on the back of a bus,” and all hell would have broke loose. But he can send her back to the kitchen and there is an undertone of “oh-fucking-well.”
WOMAN GETS SLAUGHTERED BY BLACK COMMUNITY FOR BEING A BIGOT…IN A CELL PHONE STORE.
Why wasn’t she home baking cookies, bystanders wonder.
“How would you feel if this country was run by a woman,” the man asked my sister.
“Well, sir, it’s run by a man right now (as it’s always been) and it’s kind of shit so…”
I’m sensitive. I’m emotional. I’m frail. I’m average when it comes to being smart. I make less money than the majority of males I know. Don’t talk to me about survival…I bleed for seven days every month and I’m alive. I carried a human being inside of my small framed body for nine months. I pushed that human being out of my body despite agony. Don’t talk to me about providing…I fed that human being from the milk my body made. Don’t talk to me about strength…I carry that human being plus ten grocery bags, a diaper bag and a stroller. (Have you SEEN my son?) I can live on two hours of sleep after a night of incessant crying. Don’t talk to me about endurance…I can come home from my eight hour, underpaid shift and cook for my child, clean the house, read a book, teach my child the English language, get a work out in and perform all of the daily chores before collapsing into my bed for a quick nap before doing it all again. I can teach my son that women are no more and no less than he. I can teach my son that women are equal. That women, just as men, should be respected for the contributions to this thing called existence. I can teach my son that not a penis nor a vagina constitutes honesty, integrity, intelligence, love, compassion, courage or worth. I can teach my son that blood is red and the heart and soul define a being.
To most…I’m a bitch. To my son…I’m mommy. I’m a woman. A mother. An emotion driven vessel. To me…I’m a boss. Of my journey. If you can’t play the game with mutual respect…ya fuckin’ fired.