Diary of a mad Non-Feminist: Why Feminists Don't Speak for Me

The absolutely deafening sound of *crickets* coming from N.O.W. whenever a Conservative woman is being lambasted in the media always serves to remind me that I am, in fact, a staunch Anti-Feminist and here is why:

I like being different from men and don’t envy man-bits. I enjoy being able to cry and win an argument by default. I like being able to use my hormones as an excuse for acting like a shrew and a mad harpie a few days a month.

I don’t like math. Icky. Oh, so icky.

I like not having to mow the lawn. Ever. I like pretending to be so mechanically impaired that I can’t even figure out how to put gas in it, never mind pull that string thing to start it.

I like not knowing what the string thing is called.

I like not having to take out the garbage (my nails! Its dirty! Ewww!). I like being able to run screeching from the room at the first glimpse of a spider and have a man come running to save the day.

I like staying home with my child without feeling as if I am not “fulfilling my potential” by not having a career. If I were a feminist, I’d beat myself up daily over that fact. Even worse, most feminists believe what I do is actually harmful to women. Betty Frieden wrote in The Feminist Mystique that housewives are mindless, thing-hungry, are not people and that “Housewives are in as much danger as the millions who walked to their own death in the concentration camps.”

Wow. How offensive; to women and to holocaust victims. Yes, Betty, nurturing, cooking, cleaning and making a loving home is *exactly* the same as forced interment and genocide.  Another paragon of Feminism, Gloria Steinem, said that housewives are parasites. Yup, she equated me and millions of other women who enjoy their lives, to tape worms. OK, sometimes my cooking “experiments” may seem to cause tape worm-like symptoms, but I am not a parasite. So, wrong again, Gloria. In fact, women need Feminists like fish need bicycles. (you young’uns may not remember that oh-so-clever Feminist slogan)

While y’all were busily pant-suiting yourselves and trying to become men, other women were out there raising families and learning through actual living. You old school Feminists forgot (or chose to ignore; y’all are big on paying lip service to “choosing”) the greatest thing that sets us apart. Being a Mommy.

Sorry, Hillary Clinton, but I like being a “standing by my man baking cookies” kind of woman. How hypocritical of you……it is only OK to stand by your husband while he is entertaining himself by batiking an intern’s dress with bodily fluids, as long as you can use him for your own political gain?. How’s that working out for you, by the way? WHOM was it who was sent to North Korea to negotiate the release of the journalists again? Meow.

I like believing in real choice; the choice to live your life in the noble pursuit of raising a family. Seems as if feminists are only obsessed with one “choice”.

I don’t like sensible shoes or short hair. I like dressing up and looking pretty and I like when men notice. I don’t gasp in feigned outrage (What! A man is looking at me! What a pig!)

And, most importantly, I like Men. I don’t believe they are the root of all evil. Except for maybe Al Gore.

Lest I be accused of woman bashing, I also have no use for Feminist men. Enough with the “feelings”. If I want to discuss feelings, I’ll call my sister.

The fact that you care more about my uterus and its “rights” than I do is kinda gross. Why the heck are creepy, middle-aged men and militant lesbians so obsessed with my reproductive rights? I have never, not once, woken up thinking “Gee, I hope my reproductive rights are protected today”. What are reproductive rights anyway? Wouldn’t that mean the right to reproduce? I can see that being a concern in say, China, but I’m pretty sure no one is stopping reproduction here. Jamie Lynn and Britney Spears, Kate Gosselin and the OctoMom are proof of that.

You don’t open doors for me out of fear of offending my independent sensibilities; I’m offended that you think I want to heave open my own door. Some of them are heavy and since I’m partial to heels, I’m always slightly off-balance.

When watching a sad movie, I need to be able to cry on your shoulder and not the other way around. Men should only cry in public when drunk and melancholy.  Or at the funeral of one of our fallen heros. I’ll even excuse it at the birth of your child, BUT only manly misty-eyes and a quick sniffle.  No blubbering.

Reciting poetry is not good foreplay. It isn’t even bad foreplay. (Am I right, ladies?)

Your political stances don’t wash. You rant and rave at injustices for women in America, yet you want to have conversations and dialogue with people who actually DO subjugate women, treat them like chattel and stone them to death for things like, oh, walking down the street alone.

There is no need to constantly validate my feelings. I already know they are valid. As should you, so please stop asking me to validate yours.

I don’t feel all empowered when you expect me to pump my own gas. Be a man and pump it for me. Show some respect…..it could mess up my manicure. Plus, it’s stinky.

Dick Cheney is sexy.  Perez Hilton is so the opposite of sexy there isn’t even a word for it. I would have said Alan Alda, but I’m fairly certain he actually is a woman.

Lastly, be an alpha male once in a while and make a decision on your own. And lose those icky little socialist beards.

(Cross-posted Here )