The Stupidity of the Sexes

“What, Isla? What did I do?” Peter stared into her eyes; if his were not close to tears themselves, they at least reflected hers.

Isla sniffed. She felt the lines of wet on her face, the dryness of her lips, the misery of her soul. Surely, she thought bitterly, He knows what he did.

Peter felt clueless. All I said was that people never forget their first girlfriend, he mused, Just because Stella said, “Hi…” He looked at Isla’s splotchy face. Maybe a comforting smile would help.

Isla burst into fresh tears. “I -I -I -gave you my heart!

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Conversationally considered for Carrot Ranch‘s prompt this week: The Greatest Gift.

September 12, 2019, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that includes the greatest gift. Answer it as if it were a question, or show what it could be. Go where the prompt leads you!

Respond by September 17, 2019. Use the comment section below to share, read, and be social. You may leave a link, pingback, or story in the comments. If you want to be published in the weekly collection, please use the form.  Rules & Guidelines.

 

Photo Credit:
Ksenia Makagonova

 

©2019 Chelsea Owens

THE Battle of the Sexes

That’s it. I’m throwing the gauntlet DOWN.

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I want to determine, once and for all, who has it harder: men or women.

Let’s take men first. For this purpose, I have brought in my masculine side. It’s just survived a long weekend with all four boys home from school for a holiday, worked outside in the yard, and done some manly exercises like …girl push-ups.

I say that men have the short end of the stick. Why?

  1. Men are expected to work for their entire lives. Even in a ‘woke’ society of both sexes working, or just the woman heading out in a business suit, a man is not considered a whole man unless he pulls his own weight.
  2. The male species cannot feel anything like sadness, vulnerability, or silly joy. Those are weak emotions, symptoms of an insecure or incompetent man.
  3. They have to deal with, date, and understand women (assuming, for this argument, they bend that way). And not offend any of them. And still be manly.
  4. Men must initiate relationships. They must often pay for a date. They must read what a woman (for sake of this argument) wants without asking blunt questions (see #3) and without getting accused of harassment and rape later.
  5. When a man gets sick, he gets mocked. Who cares if he literally feels at death’s door? Let’s kick his pride while it’s convalescing.
  6. Males are often stinkier. Practically everything sweats, and in large amounts. Thank goodness for deodorant, aftershave and cologne. And windows.
  7. Men are expected to be good at most things, especially where fixing stuff or sports are concerned. They are also supposed to only be interested in those topics. As before, lack in these areas is a sign of weakness.
  8. Similarly, a man must be strong. He needs to look fit and be ready to move a couch or a car with his bare hands.
  9. If a woman feels like it, she may pick on a man. She may slap him, belittle him, and accuse him. He may be strong, but man is not allowed to hit back.
  10. Even though men spend hardly any time at home (see #1) and are not supposed to get involved in decorating the house (see #7), they must figure out where their tools have been moved to and why a couch (complete with an obscene number of throw pillows) is now where their favorite recliner was.

Women think their life is difficult, but it’s a bed of roses (that match in color, and were complimented on by their hordes of friends) compared to a man’s.

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Now, in order to prepare an adequate female defense, I must think more girly. Allow me a few hours on Pinterest ….or not. I’m not the most feminine representative of the female sex, but I’ll try my best.

Women have a harder life, hands-down.

  1. Periods. Since many men do not understand this sensation: picture a sharp knife inside your lower abdomen that scrapes at your organs. Once a month-ish. Not only that, but you must endure odd hormonal effects like loss of mental capacity and car keys just before the fun starts; plus, blood.
    If all of that weren’t enough, people snidely tell you that you’re grumpy because of PMS or that you ought to just “deal with it” when crumpled over a toilet.
  2. Childbirth. It’s not much of a break from the alternative; especially since menstruation and pregnancy share symptoms like pain, forgetfulness, and grumpiness. Being pregnant is just weird, and delivery is the worst pain many have ever been in. Ever.
  3. Menopause. Imagine a relief from the #1 issue, that was designed by a drunk engineer who didn’t care how (or if) the machine functioned after it ran the full program.
  4. If the first three points didn’t win this debate for women, the judges have obviously been bribed. The women recommend that each judge pass a kidney stone before being allowed to vote. -Which leads to a real #4: more health issues because of female organs. One doctor visit for one symptom leads to an overall diagnosis of “because of womanhood.”
  5. Shopping for women’s clothing is enough headache and cost that they just might need a government-sponsored representative. Seriously. Men get measurements for everything and one name for each color. Women get inaccurate numbers by 2’s and colors like “blue with gray in it” or “gold that may be black.”
  6. In a traditional home; a woman needs to stay home, take care of the home, raise her children to not be psychopaths, and feel fulfilled doing so.
    In non-traditional homes; women need to do all of the above, plus work a job and arrange for childcare …and keep themselves sexy but not too sexy that they’re attracting coworkers.
  7. Females need to look good. If they buy into the ‘inner beauty’ and ‘be yourself’ crap, they have few dates and few friends. If they, instead; nip, tuck, makeup, inject, smile, style, and flaunt; they get a lot of positive attention.
  8. A woman is a b*tch if she’s pushy. She’s unfeminine if she (necessarily) picks up any ‘masculine’ slack. Her opinions are emotional ones, and therefore not as valid or as sound as a man’s.
  9. When a woman takes a younger man, she’s a cougar. If she sleeps around she is a slut. If she dresses attractively and flirts then she is “asking for it.”
  10. Women are expected to arrange everything around the house to buy some social cred, make friends (to admire the house), and plan fun family or couples outings. They are also expected to not overspend their budget doing this.

Men get ‘that look’ when they come home to a house full of pillows, but say they don’t want to go furniture shopping. They say they have simple needs, then demand that women look good and feel sexy after doing all the laundry. Face it: men hold the power and prestige, and women hold the garbage bag.

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In developed countries, the battlefield of the sexes is nearly even. In terms of permanent penalties, however, I feel that women will always have it worse. I’m not looking for compensation (though, some sort of temporary transferal of woman parts might be nice); I’m looking for agreement.

Do you agree? Do you not? Let’s hear your reasons. Don’t be shy; I’m a fair moderator.

—————-

While you gather your thoughts and rebuttals, look at what I posted this past week:
Wednesday, March 13: Talked about Dr. Pickell and our ignorant influences in “Do You Know Your Influences?

Thursday, March 14: “The Cure for Depression: Eat Healthy,” another suggestion in a series originally posted over at The Bipolar Writer Mental Health Blog.

Friday, March 15: Versed “Prometheus,” in response to Frank Prem‘s poem.

Saturday, March 16: Winner of the Weekly Terribly Poetry Contest. Congratulations to Bruce Almighty Goodman!
Announced the Xth Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest. The theme is verbosity. I haven’t had a lot of entrants, so PLEASE ENTER!

Sunday, March 17: “Crescent Illusions,” a sci-fi response to D. Wallace Peach’s popular prompt.

Monday, March 18: “Wilhelmina Winters, Eighty-Six.”

Tuesday, March 19:  An inspirational quote by Trent Shelton.

Wednesday, March 20: Today.

I also posted all this week at my motherhood site. I wrote “Why Oh Why Must We Have The Teenage Years?,” “The Magic Clothes Washing Machine,” and “Five More Minutes” (a poem).

 

Photo Credit:
Image by VIVIANE MONCONDUIT from Pixabay
Image by Josethestoryteller from Pixabay
Image by Ryan McGuire from Pixabay

Prometheus

Were I a god
I’d start
here
here, with nothing
a great compression of
nothing
till the built-up force of spaces between the nothing nothing nothing
exploding
expanding
extrapolating
cause slivered bits of, simply, everything.

Were I a god
I’d start
there
there, with slivers
a sparkling shower of
slivers
till, gathered, they form a winking blinking ball of thunk thought think
longing
learning
living
condensations of, really, sentience.

Were I a god
I’d start
everywhere
everywhere, with sentience
a malleable mess of
sentience
till the clumps of godmade intelligences breathe stretch move
dreaming
daring
dancing
flaming forms of, actually, life.

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In answer to Frank Prem’s analysis (in the end the flame)

If You’re So Inclined

In celebration of an upcoming commercial holiday and to help inspire others to enter The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest, I will write a love poem every day this week.

I also write today’s tale in response to Carrot Ranch‘s weekly writing prompt.*

A simple man, though good and kind
Went walking down the sidewalk line
And saw a simple womankind.
He thought, She looks, to me, quite fine.
Meanwhilst, she glanced in mirrored shrine;
Of café window, ‘neath a sign
And told herself she was quite pline;
Till, seeing, side and just behind
Our simple man, in quite the bind.
Then, from his cellphone, played a chime:
‘Twas evening of Day Valentine.
She smiled, asked, “Have you the time?”
He smiled, too; said, “Not yet nine.
“Would you,” he paused, “Want to be mine
“For supper, now it’s time to dine?”

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*Carrot Ranch’s official rules:
February 7, 2019, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that includes a sign. It can be a posted sign, a universal sign, a wonder. Go where the prompt leads.

Respond by February 12, 2019. Use the comment section below to share, read and be social. You may leave a link, pingback or story in the comments. If you want to be published in the weekly collection, please use the form on the website.  Rules & Guidelines.

Photo Credit:
Jez Timms

Depravity, an Answer

Man is no longer subject to an original sin.

No, he’s sinned quite enough on his own to go far beyond what an Adam may or may not have done.

He walks the streets full of money and glances this way or that but not down to where his money might be spent.

-To fill the empty void in another’s life with drink and drug and possibly the warm blanket: proving the beggar no greater than the man walking, for the man walking is fueled by substance as well.

He and his family (if he has one) all walk while empty inside, trying to fill themselves with pulsing, flashing, instantaneous media. They hide behind their screen, almost-tickled by dopamine, while Mom and Dad take a cold one after a day run by warm ones and a few breaks filled with smoky ones.

And the world is filled with varying levels of success, yet all are depraved of what will really fill their soul and leave them sated with light.

Written in response to The Literati Mafia‘s essay prompt.

“We but mirror the world. All the tendencies present in the outer world are to be found in the world of our body. If we could change ourselves, the tendencies in the world would also change. As a man changes his own nature, so does the attitude of the world change towards him. This is the divine mystery supreme. A wonderful thing it is and the source of our happiness. We need not wait to see what others do.”

-Mahatma Gandhi

Swiped from Damon Ashworth Psychology: “25 Ideas That Could Change Your Life

“Man cannot possess anything as long as he fears death. But to him who does not fear it, everything belongs. If there was no suffering, man would not know his limits, would not know himself. ”

-Leo Tolstoy, War and Peace

Best Friends Forever

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Miriam was fed up with men that morning; particularly with her husband, Stan.

“You can’t talk to any guys,” he’d told her over breakfast.

It was the day she was to start her new job. “I have to, for work!”

“Well, only about business matters,” he’d warned.

Miriam wasn’t born yesterday, of course, but she was born in the era of technology. She had a brain. She had a job using her brain, to write software code for computers. What’s more, she worked primarily with males, since females didn’t seem to enjoy the same things she did.

“I have to actually be nice to them,” she explained.

“It’s only an invitation,” Stan said. “Also, don’t wear those jeans. Or, your-”

“I know, I know,” she cut him off. “Don’t wear my heels.”

Her mother didn’t understand, when Miriam tried to text-complain what was wrong. I think Stan’s right, dear, to be worried. Miriam could almost picture her mother wagging a finger. Women these days wear things I don’t even swim in, then skip off to a job and never think of having children. You know I would make an excellent grandmother, don’t you, dear?

Her friend, Jill, understood. At least, she understood Miriam. Stan’s just old-fashioned, Jill wrote back. He thinks women ought to stay home and feel satisfied ironing their husband’s work shirts while they have guy AND girl friends.

It wasn’t like the men in Miriam’s line of work were smarmy. Most of them were lucky to pick clothes with patterns that didn’t clash; some were lucky to remember personal hygiene. It also wasn’t like Miriam hadn’t experienced computer science lab flirting. How did Stan think she’d met and married him, after all?

He’s just jealous that I got the job at Sanutech and he didn’t, a small, inner voice suggested.

“Have a good day,” Stan said as he left for his own job; flimsy encouragement atop a towering pile of admonitions, criticisms, worries, and warnings.

“You, too,” she grumbled. He left. She watched him from their basement window as he mounted the stairs to the carport and his feet entered his reliable sedan. She waved to his tires before he drove away down their suburban street.

Upstairs, above her head, she heard the scuffle of shoes on bare wood floor. Stan’s mother was up, then, and getting ready for work. She’d had to ever since Stan’s father had filed for divorce ten years previously. Stan’s father had run off with the only female on his engineering team; a scandalous woman who joked with the guys and wore jeans and high heels.

Sighing, Miriam looked into their only mirror. She pulled a frumpy sweater over her nondescript dress shirt and slacks, touched up her plain hair style, and gave her reflection a half-smile.

“Time for work,” she told the empty apartment, and then headed out to her own reliable sedan.

She’d call Stan at lunch. It’d be nice to have a conversation with the one guy she ought to be friends with, after all.