A Question of Gender...

“I wish there was an official document that proved women are always right.” I sighed one day after a discussion between my mum and dad.

Half sniggering, half crying, my dad replied, “There is, it’s called a marriage certificate.”

Since that moment it has come to my attention that men say ‘women are always right’ a lot more than they care to admit. It’s a bit of a ‘Catch-22’ situation however, since whenever they say ‘I suppose you’re always right because you’re a woman’ they seem to instantly forget it, so whenever an actual woman makes the case they get all defensive and accuse them of radical feminism.

(Radical feminism here being the crazy-kind of normal feminism, usually involving the ideas of women ruling society and men being cast away to an island of exile, they also show a prime example of female compassion. Not.)

I consider myself a liberal feminist, or equalist, either way I want a fair society that doesn’t judge on gender. But I do enjoy being right, even when I’m wrong. And so I will quite happily use the excuse of ‘women are always right’ until either my opponent gives in (at which point I will realise I am actually wrong and apologise profusely) or until my lungs collapse (although usually this option does not occur).

A common debate held between my associates and I, is the phrase ‘women belong in the kitchen’, an over-used and out-dated idea, obviously. Now I like baking, I like my own little kitchen cupboard, I like my kitchen; after all it’s where all the food is kept. However, when a male friend of mine says; “Get back to the kitchen, woman… tee-hee…” I flip.

“Oh so you think I belong in the kitchen huh? Why don’t YOU go and do the washing up you misogynistic git.” I will exclaim dramatically as I throw a loaded tea towel at their head, which they always duck, annoyingly.

I then storm off in the wrong direction while they laugh behind me, washing up left, scared and alone.

I must admit I probably don’t help the situation of encouraging men into the strange new environment, as whenever I notice a male friend doing the washing up or setting out things I do encourage them appropriately;

“Oh thank you, that’s really helpful!”

However as soon as they’ve left the room feeling all content and proud, (bless them), I sneakily rearrange the few misplaced objects to my taste.

So despite this, I usually end up doing the washing up anyway.

And the hoovering.

And I lose the argument.