International Womens’ Day – Hookers, doormats and corporate bitches

IWDA_CatherineDeveny

Dear lady doctor, woman driver, female boss, beauty queen, drunk mole, daughter-in-law, prima donna, old maid, fag hag, debutante, femme fatale, gold digger, hostess with the mostest, nymphomaniac, Playmate of the year, local bike, Avon lady, innocent virgin, mail-order bride, jezebel, girl next door, ex-wife, cheap hooker, shrinking violet, single mother, spinster, trophy wife, headmistress, dumb blonde, damsel in distress, bridesmaid, bearded lady, pushy bitch and girl who has ever jumped out of a a cake,

You have come a long way baby! These days iPhones are a girl’s best friend, gentlemen prefer blondes with secondary education and a Brazillian and hell hath no fury like a woman who has just lost her libel case thanks to the inexperienced solicitor briefing her. It ain’t over till the Fat Lady arrives before the creche closes, gets the kids to bed, pays the baby sitter and manages to pick up the take away Thai for her and her partner to eat in the car before the information night on the impact of the carbon tax on dual income households negatively gearing blended families begins. A woman’s work is never done unless she employs a personal assistant and for the love of a good woman you will be required to sign a prenuptial agreement. You’ll be pleased to know that the hand that rocks cradle still receives very little gratitude indeed.

What’s a nice girl like me doing on a page like this? Making my own money that I put into my own bank account that I spend on what I bloody well feel like by being funny, saying what I thing and swearing. Shit. See? That’s feminism.

We chicks are half way there the way I see it, but do keep in mind that Barry Jones is a viable long term partner the way I see it as well. A soon as we have a quiz show hosted by a mature, patronizing woman whose side kick is a tanned, blonde, wordless airhead bloke, we’ll be on our way. When the day comes that a man goes to work and his male colleagues ask “who’s looking after your kids?” the hard work will have begun to pay off. When we no longer need women’s studies to supplement the gaping cavernous hole that is our participation in history I will believe that the suffragettes fight is over. As soon as the score board at Wimbledon no longer specifies whether the female playing in a Miss or a Mrs despite the fact that males players have no title at all I will believe that my little sisters may grow up in a world without eating disorders and pack raping football players. ‘What happens on the footy trip stays on the footy trip.’

So today my friend have a shandy, a cream sherry or a shot of moselle and rejoice in the journey of the women who have won, the women who’ve been beaten and the women who have told you that you’ve tucked your skirt into your pantyhose.

Go Back