Interlude – Rebranding the Feminist

Spent the evening Popular Online Messaging Service messaging Posh Spice about lists: one night, three months and lifers, any celebs. We’re talking sex here, for those of you are faint hearted. We had to start categorising by nationality (too much choice) and even a Dead List resurrecting itself into life for a one night stand with either of us thirty something mums. Paul Newman. Steve McQueen.

Remind me to explore what a woman’s taste in men can tell us about a woman’s sense of herself. I guess this is my thought process from realising that BPD can also stand for Boyfriends Proclaimed Dickheads BUT this is MY issue, NOT theirs. Although a session of CBT may not go astray for a few of them.

I had a brief conversation with My Lady this afternoon about women’s sexuality and how they act upon it. I’m a bit tired to go over it now and my sleeping tablet is hitting the spot. But it raised many connected and disjointed threads of thoughts in my mind about a woman’s sense of herself and how that is shaped so I must define my owns views on it, at some point, when I’m not pharmaceutically tranquilised.

To My Lady’s generation, I am possibly promiscuous even though by the standards of today I’m far from it. Luckily, my mother is an open minded woman. I’ve never had a one night stand. I don’t take risks. (Getting knocked up at eighteen will teach you something about antibiotics and the pill not being friends… ) but I like sex and I’m not afraid to say it as a woman in my sexual prime, or approaching it if we believe thirty five is when the magic happens.

My Lady reckons the danger is that a guy will make the effort to woo you for three pre-watershed dates, get his bit and fuck off. Grand, if he does, he’s obviously a dickhead user and not ready to be in a relationship with you, you little Beyoncé Brigade Beauty, so Bye Bye Little Boy, to the left, to the left… And would any modern woman want to invest three, six months in a relationship only to find out after the acceptable period of time in which all physical interaction should be PG that the sex is crap?

They’re telling us to have babies early, preferably before we shrivel up in our thirties but we’re not meant to find the right father for the expected kid by trying out a few different studs. Pick one and go with it. No returns. No refunds. Stuck with the kid, stuck without a decent sex life.

Why is everyone so afraid of women’s sexual fulfilment? Bad reputation? Fuck off, it’s not nineteen fifty seven. Pregnancy? Be careful, there are plenty of options (I learned that hard way). STIs, again use your head. You could get raped: I could get run over by a bus but I still cross the street to get to Mass (only on Christmas Day: Miss Marple insists on festive attendance from her altar of Elder Worship).

If we’re all going to avoid having sex because it might garner moral disapproval; might end up in a chord-cutting, wail-awaiting frenzy forty weeks later (it’s MORE than nine months…); might result in an embarrassing, mumbling visit to a sssh… sexual health clinic or because we might get attacked (and it happens, more than we know, unfortunately) then we will go nowhere as a gender. Feminism is not about despising and fearing sex. And it’s certainly not about women being afraid, cynical and hysterically negative about everything even remotely masculine.

Gender Equality is about women being able to do the same things and say the same things as men without gender based criticism or, indeed, special treatment. I’m thinking of rebranding myself as a Gender Egalitarian because I’m so sick of nagging feminists who find inequality in EVERYTHING – I AM a feminist but I fear there are too many feminists who hinge their cause to wall of hatred. Sometimes I read a “Feminist” article and I think the writer/ organisation has a massive testicle shaped chip on their shoulder. Education is key, parliamentary gender quotas are not.

Have the sex. Have lots of the sex, with whomever takes your fancy. Just not Idris Elba, he’s mine. But do it safely. You’re all grown ups. Bí curamach ach bain taitneamh as. It’s up to our generation of women to do what we want educationally, emotionally, professionally, parentally – or not parentally (who says you have to be a baby bank?) – and sexually so that the all round empowerment of women, not just in the workplace, becomes less of a social novelty and more an engrained societal code.

Stop fighting men, start empowering women.

Obviously my chosen image for this post is meant tongue-in-cheek. I always find the phrase tongue-in-cheek a bit suggestive but then again that’s probably my mental disorder manifesting itself in the form of vulgarity.

That being said, they’re all the same: selfish pricks, every single last one of them.

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