ME TOO!

My mind now goes back to sixth grade, when our class went camping for the weekend. Our (male) teacher wanted a picnic table moved, and called for some volunteer boys to help him move it. I was nearby with small group of girls. We heard the call, and we responded, "Boys? Whaddaya mean, boys? We can do it just as well as they can." We jolly well lifted and moved that picnic table ourselves, and the teacher was properly chastised.

I think a lot of that "eek, a mouse, let's climb on a chair and scream our heads off" behavior is posturing. It's a way of flirting to get the big, strong, man to come to her rescue. I was tipped off when dating that if a girl wants a lot of cuddling at the movies, she should have him take her to a horror flick and then pretend to be scared, whether she actually is or not.

As far as acts of service and division of labor in our house, we are motivated by love. Whichever one of us happens to be up getting a drink will ask the other, "Would you like one?" He'll bring me a soda one day, I'll bring him one the next. Chores are done on the basis of who does them better, not who is what sex. I take care of the cats. He manages the money. My physical limitations have decided that he should empty the dishwasher (but I load it), take out the trash (but I bag it), vacuum and mop (but I sweep) and do the majority of the laundry. Any other house cleaning, I do. He drives us anywhere we go, because my vision isn't good enough. He works at a job. I stay home. On the surface it looks like we have a very traditional breadwinner/homemaker relationship, and we both enjoy it very much. However, if someone were to tell me I have no choice, that I *must* remain at home and be the homemaker, simply because I am a woman, I'd be the first one to throw rotten eggs at that person.

Another instance from my life: A battle-of-the-sexes volleyball game I ended up dropping out of, when I was in college. I had been trying to rally the troops. "OK, ladies, let's show them we're just as tough as they are." But my teammates kept ducking and screaming every time the ball came near them. They'd whine, they'd complain, they'd whimper. "Oh, I broke a fingernail." And they even had the gall to say we should have a ten-point head start because they were bigger and stronger. The men were just eating it up. Pawing all over the whining women. "OK, baby. We'll take it easy." I ended up feeling so nauseatingly disgusted, I quit.

As someone observed later, "There were games going on, other than volleyball." Of course there were games. On both sides. Because the women weren't usually that helpless--and who were the men going after? The whinier and more helpless the woman, the more pawing she got.

And those games seriously go right straight to my stomach.