Saturday, April 26, 2008

Girl...duh duh duh...you'll be a woman soon...

(This post was meant for yesterday, but all of my words were coming out of my head in such a tangle that one would suspect that I was writing in adolescent netspeak. OMG IDK ROTHFLMFAO! Meh, it was ironical. On with the new improved adult version.)

***

Instead of my alarm clock waking me up this morning, a loud blast of "The Golden Girls" from the TV did the job nicely.

My toddler is trying to figure out how the remote control works.

It's supposed to be empowering that this group of independent, older, self actualized women are now called "girls". They've been through marriages, divorces, being widowed, raising children...but now they are free to be girls! Sistas doing it for themselves!

(The episode that woke me featured Blanche and Dorothy pretending to be lesbians on a TV talk show, as some sort of favor to Rose. I missed the first parts of the storyline so I don't know why this was a favor but I the part I saw wasn't a great big surprise.)

I'm not as self actualized as Dorothy, Blanche or even Rose, but I hope when I grow old enough to start drawing whatever Social Security is still left that I've earned the title of "woman" rather than "girl".

I work on this woman stuff. I want to be seen as a woman based on what I know, on my talents, my values, my decisions, and my word being my bond.

I am practiced in knowing exactly what my remote control does and does not do.

I was 21 or 22 when the difference between woman and girl was apparent to me. Being a nontraditional freshman student in college, I had a couple years of age on my peers, as well as a couple years of marriage and motherhood. I was sharing a table at the crowded cafeteria with two girls who I recognized from my 100+ student math class. To be polite they included me in their conversation, asking me if I had a date for the upcoming homecoming dance. I replied that I was married. (I don't usually wear my rings because I often have my hands in substances that would ruin my rings.) The girls got excited at this point because being married meant that I had rolled the dice well and won Mystery Date...so what was I planning to wear?

No matter how I explained it, I couldn't get across the idea that a dance, a momentary event, a blip in the long term, wasn't one of my priorities any more. Here are my values, here is what is important, this is what I'm trying to accomplish and off the shoulder taffeta ain't got no part in any of it.

Dry cleaning can kiss my bullocks. There is no dry cleaning button on my remote control.

I knew I was "woman" because I could back up what I had to say with more than my whims and caprices and untested ideologies. My remote contol has a logical practicality button. When I'm faced with fears, or with struggles, or with whims and wants and cravings, I push the button...I see what it does. This button gets brighter the more I use it.

My remote control also has a fart joke button and a sequins and feathers button, just in case you thought this post was getting too serious. These buttons are on either side of the logical practicality button. When I'm not paying attention, sometimes I get the vapors instead of self actualization.




(Now, if only I could find a good logical reason behind getting my friends to pretend to be lesbians on TV.)


This post is an assignment associated with the blogs in the Thank You Notes in my sidebar. Check 'em out.

2 comments:

  1. Becky, you do a kickass job with "deep and thoughtful." I'll always come back for the fart stories, of course, but this is a great post too.

    ReplyDelete
  2. i'll be 21 soon, and as far as i can tell i'm still pretty much a girl... i like your principles, and the fact that you live by them everyday; it would do me a world of good to follow your example. :)

    ReplyDelete

Absent Minded Archives