On Being a Woman

I was asked this morning by a man I barely know for some "tips on housekeeping'. If not for the humor in the question [shall we say the less than pristine state of my household], I might have lost it. Perhaps there is serendipity in the reality that this was an on-line venue. I politely responded that my housekeeping is a disaster, and that right now I'm doing yardwork...which is also woefully behind.

Perhaps I should've let loose instead: "No, and why the hell did you ask?". Are you assuming that because I'm a woman that I must be good at housekeeping?". Or perhaps, I might have hearkened back to a previous e-conversation he and I had regarding what we'd discovered about ourselves since our marriages. I, for example, discovered soon after my husband moved out of the house that the house was a real mess and that there was nothing to eat. I had taken advantage of my husband's domestic gifts; for all the larger flaws in the marital relationship, it's crystal clear that I ate very well and that the house stayed clean....and I did little to contribute to these arenas. Perhaps, I could have returned the question with an equally stereotype-laden question. "So, my car won't go...any tips?" So, I've got my money on the Patriots this season...you?" .

I do not embody the domestic gifts all-too-commonly associated with being female. Moreover, I often drive miles out of my way rather than ever stop and ask directions. I rarely, if ever, tear up during movies. In fact, I rarely tear up at all. I yell at the television during Buckeye football games. I bring home the bacon as a single parent, and did so for the majority of my married life. If one were to decipher my gender solely on the basis of these characteristics, I'd land quite solidly in the male column. Either I'm not a woman, or we still have work to do on gender stereotypes. And, as Sojourner Truth declared, "Ain't I A Woman?"