Reading, I discover plenty of media promoting women in leadership positions all over the social landscape, in economy, politics, corporations. From a certain perspective, a diligent capitalist woman could make more money than a daring man, building measured courage and resilience into the company according to her nesting instinct — like in traditional times when men waged war and women consolidated the domains. From another perspective, it’s never enough until an “equality” (and imaginary) digit has been reached. And then… but hey! What then?
For a couple of weeks, Don assigned me a fair amount of data to match for an important project of his. This affects my daily routine. Unlike Joshua, I see no reason in asking God to halt the rotation of the earth until I’ll catch ’em all before calling it a day. My self-lighten Thinkpad allows me to crunch data by night as well. Besides, I’m working on a peaceful project, not on matters of life and death like in the epic times.
Prioritizing on this project, my kitchen looks like the aftermath of Biblical confrontations; my garden is slowly greening herself alone, and at her wildest will; all my three daughters will help me, during weekends mostly, when everyone’s back at home, and if (what a big if) no one has to work on her own project 🙂 ; but the second man in my life won’t properly do his homework unless I spend hours nannying him. As when I exit his room, he drops the books, stares on the window or grabs the Playmobils. He’d wish to fire up that computer of his more often, but hubby imposed a strict code on using non-productive machines in the house.
These days, I have one word to describe my situation: overwhelmed. And remember, I’ve got only a low-level data management task to fulfill. Nothing like the responsibility of a true leading position. Nothing like business trips or extra hours. I’m not even going to a 9 to 5 job. I’m a full-time housewife!
Had I further pursued my career to target a leading role (the way I used to dream when young), my children might have made their way through school on their own terms (no homework monitoring, no real training process), my kitchen would have been occupied by a daily cook, my garden roamed by a paid gardener, my house cleaned by a daily maid and my man’s needs quenched by other women, and possibly by the daily maid…
All the theater above being paid by me, of course. Pay two or three other women to replace me and to serve me (and my man). Following the feminist math, for one woman to occupy a leading position, it takes at least two-three women to keep her house (and man). Then, at the office, maybe even more women as secretaries, drivers, etc. Oh wait, why not hire servant males at the office? Might come in handy whenever the lady boss needs some consolation, soul connection, swift cuddling to balance between two flights.
What if, pushing the maths, all women would jump to leading positions and all men will serve them? An Amazonian utopia best suited in my man’s erotic fantasies, in his Domina dreams.
Farther down the ladder of self-gratification (it is farther and not further as we’re talking mere materialism here), the servant women will find time to “serve” as mothers, to produce and raise offspring, while the leading women will have no time for “serving” as reproductive “beasts.” On top of all their diplomas and professional achievements, a Darwin Award may eventually crown their career, and themselves, out of existence, making room for the kids of their servants.
In the extreme of statistics (since I’m crunching data anyway), with every woman taking a leading role and every man a serving chore, motherhood (gradually replaced by fatherhood, where it applies) will end and children will be no more, because of the grand social shortage of mothers. No more children, no more girls, no more women.
The Amazonian utopia, turned out in a generational dystopia, makes the case for our extinction. Taking a person, woman or man alike, and placing her, or him, inside a cage with a number on it, then crunching that number with a code machine to produce some fancy statistics and charts, is the tragic equivalent of “Killing us softly.” Not even with a song. No true woman would appreciate such an outrageous feat.
Where are the women then?
Raising children and dedicating themselves to their families, mastering their households and holding their husbands captive to their charms. Just wondering: when a woman rides her own stud, who’s holding the reins?, who is the one in the leading position?