Jun 19, 2015

I Say Confucius, You Say Emancipacius

     A long while back, like really long, like Ancient China long, I wasn't self-employed and had a different job, a job which required co-workers and one day, on Woman's Day, one of my co-workers got a visit from her friend who came in carrying a newspaper of some sort. Due to the date, the publication had an article on emancipation of women and that's where the story gets interesting. And mind-boggling, really.
     The co-worker's friend sat down to have a chat with us, threw the paper on the desk and said: "There's all this talk about women's rights and this and that in this paper, but I still don't know who this Emancipacius guy is? Who IS he, what did he do??"
     I told you. Mind-boggling.
     After I'd shoved my eyeballs back into their rightful sockets and a sufficient amount of silence had filled the air (and I completely flabbergasted thought about explaining how Emancipacius is the second cousin of Confucius, OBVIOUSLY), I very carefully and slowly said: "And that's why women will never truly become emancipated." But now, years from then, I'm thinking: do we, women, still want that? Or better yet, do we, women, still need that? Emancipation? Do we?
     To answer to that question we have to consider what gifts good old wise Emancipacius is supposed to be bearing or, to stop beating around the Chinese bush (am I the only one who finds this sentence a tad sexual?), what are the stereotypical male and female roles or characteristics since the 'emancipation of women' aims towards equality of the two. So. A stereotypical man. A man should be ... What? Annoying? Sure, but let's not get into that right now. So. A stereotypical man — part two. A man should be a physically tough, emotionally challenged, never-complaining or whining, rational and blunt AND rugged breadwinner while a stereotypical woman should be a gentle, caring, mushy, considerate, demure, modest and well-groomed homemaker with a permanent stash of hand cream in her purse. Yeah, right, and then the woolly mammoth wraps the chocolate in tinfoil. What is this, the 1950s? The two pools of stereotypically male and stereotypically female adjectives sure have overflowed, I'll tell you that.

     Now, in the 21st century, it seems that all of my girlfriends have been diligently stealing from the male  cookie  characteristic jar and are far tougher and less mollycoddled than most of my male friends. And vice versa. ALL of my girlfriends have (i.e. complain about) boyfriends who act like they have stage four lung cancer when they've just caught a cold (but most won't take any medicine because 'they're MEN and they're TOUGH and pills are for SISSIES', but will whine like little bitches all though their 'serious case' of the fucking sniffles). I know guys that can talk for hours about natural cosmetics and which cream works best for which body part/condition/time of day/skin type/I-don't-even-fucking-know-what-more-to-list-but-I'm-sure-there's-tons, while some of my girlfriends don't even use a — a as in ONE — cream. I know guys who've never put a finger on a lawn mower, a power drill, a masonry trowel or a wrench, while I'm quite handy with all of these. I've had girl talks and pep talks with guys about their insecurities when it comes to sex while I know plenty of women, myself included, who simply go out and have fun and just fuck and keep the yammering to themselves.
     And since we're on the subject of sex (shocker, right, sex talk on FPS??), let me tell you one more thing. Women had to deal with men's macho playboy persona for decades so now most of us don't even flinch at the thought of our men not being virgins when they descended from the heavens into our lives. But since emancipation kicked in, it has also become more socially acceptable for women to have more-than-one sexual partners (thank Fuck) but the men haven't jumped on the emancipation bandwagon and thus squirm at the thought of their precious sugarplum already being  fucked  plucked. And plucked. And plucked and plucked and plucked. But to all the squirming man, all I have to say is: well, boohoo.


     Now there's probably a bunch of men out there searching for a tissue — an organic, hypoallergenic, lightly scented with natural fragrance, of course, tissue — and I guess it's all our fault. I guess we wanted to become emancipated and the men to become more sensitive, but we got tough and men got sissified. Gee, thanks, Emancipacius. And the more I think about all of this, the more a quote from a certain tale comes to mind. It's a Slovene tale by Fran Levstik and the quote goes like this: "Kar so se obabili možje, je vsaka baba neumna, ktera se omoži!" with its original English translation: "Because men have turned old women, a woman's a fool if she takes a husband!" Amen to that, sister. Or should I say a very insightful brother, since Fran Levstik was a dude. A dude who wrote that back in 1858. 1858, people!


     So the question of whether or not we, women of the present, still want or need emancipation really isn't all that relevant, because obviously men are the ones who need it — and apparently they've been needing it from as early as 1858. So men, sweet, darling, gentle, precious men, we pass the emancipation torch to you — get fucking emancipated. And get emancipated pronto.
     But seriously. Who IS this Emancipacius?

 

     Thanks for stopping by and looking and reading (obviously) my mishmash jumble of cascading torrent of pot-pourri-like craziness, it means the world to me. Therefore, you're welcome to pop by again next week to see what's new on the blog, so hope to see you back on Wednesday since Wednesday's the designated FPS day. But beware, I'm not signing and sealing that in blood so your best bet is to follow FPS via email (or Bloglovin or Google+) to never miss an update. Or simply come by again sometimes!


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