March 8 is International Women’s Day. Did you know that?
I certainly didn’t. Truth be told I’m a little miffed about the whole thing.
But before I explain any further, there’s something you should know.
I’m pretty fucking liberal. Like, so liberal my Gramma rolls her eyes any time I express an opinion. So liberal, it’s literally against my Catholic religion. So liberal, I only shave my legs because I like the way they feel. Okay, I shave my armpits too…when I think about it. But there’s a few key things I don’t shave. Yeah… that liberal.
So liberal I take everything Rachel Maddow says as gospel truth. I heart Rachel Maddow so hard. So very, very hard.
Even with all that liberal gumming up the pipes, I still hate the idea of an International Women’s Day.
Seriously? I need a whole day devoted to telling me how important I am because I have a vagina? Bitch please. I don’t need a specific, arbitrary, marked-on-the-calendar day to tell me I’m awesome because I have matching chromosomes and can make people.
Okay, maybe not me specifically.
No, you know what, me specifically. And you specifically, all you hip-endowed, bold chested females out there reading this… all three of you. Even the narrow ones. Even the women who are STILL WOMEN despite disease and surgery and socially influenced fallacies of inadequacy. We don’t need a quoteunquote day dedicated to us. There’s no International Men’s Day. You know why? Because men don’t need it.
And damnit… neither do we. I don’t want an empty gesture on Google telling me how wonderful being a woman is. I live it, in all its leaky, lumpy, soft, and curvy glory. I don’t want the guys (keyword here: GUYS) who decided these frankly disrespectful things marking a random 24 hour period in which to notice and love The Woman. There are 364 other days in the year. Am I really only gonna get one? No really?! I am only worth ONE DAY? I – as in J the singular not-quite-librarian, married to Dave, mother to Daisy, Oliver, Finn, and Dinah – know I’m not terribly important in the Grand Scheme o’Things. I’m really not. But I – as in a representative of The Woman as a Whole – I am the reason this planet spins ever so delicately on its axis. With out Me, YOU don’t exist. Period. End of discussion. I am the reason for Your being, the Rise and Fall and Further Rise of civilizations worldwide since the dawn of Time Itself.
And I am worthy of more that your capricious twenty-four hours.
I don’t need a parade every day. I want true equality, totally unmitigated. I want EXACTLY WHAT THE BOYS GET. I don’t want special treatment. I don’t want a stupid holiday dedicated to my uterus.