On this, the day before Valentine’s Day, love is in the air. Or is that the grease from the Chinese restaurant? Anyway, let us examine society’s views on women.
Welcome to the 1992 cafe.
I’ll be your host.
Would you like smoking or non-smoking? Politically Correct or non-PC?
Mr. Duke will be your waiter; he’ll be with you in just a moment. Why don’t you read over our menu:
First, we have some sort of beauty contest which was on TV last week. The women in it are typical of pageant contestants: “I’m Laura Sue Kripshack from the cabbage-worm state, IDAHO! I’m a senior studying public relations at Idaho Tech, home of the FIGHTING POTATOES! After graduating I plan on opening a health club for DISADVANTAGED CHILDREN! My hobbies are modeling, aerobics and screaming at the end of EVERY SENTENCE!!”
We then get to see Ms. Kripshack modeling evening wear and playing Beethoven on the flute.
And of course we also see her modeling some lovely swimwear while wearing high-heeled shoes, which is very practical—that is if you’re ever on the beach and you need to kill a shark and you don’t have anything to use except your footwear. Ever try killing a shark with sandals?
Is there any hope left for society?
How many questions in a row is this?
But back to the menu. Here’s entree number two:
A juicy tidbit we borrow from the pages of the Chicago Reader weekly newspaper. A New York City therapist is arrested for allegedly fondling a woman. She says he justifies his technique by saying that the way he judges whether she was eating too much salt or sugar is by tasting various parts of her body.
(Don’t try this at home. It doesn’t work—I tried it. After the tasting, I had no idea whether my volunteer patient ate too much sugar or salt—I did find out, however, that cat hairs stick to your tongue.)
And our dessert menu is chock-full-o‘-sweets:
Among the highlights is a platter full of trials and hearings in which women are the alleged (or proven) victims but seem to be the ones on trial.
Then we have women perhaps dying from silicone breast implants—in other words, women dying because of society’s unrealistic expectations.
Now for the whine list.
Who is responsible for the above list of unappetizing appetizers? Men? Women?
How about a combination plate.
Yes, there are a lot of unsavory pressures put on women by men. But that doesn’t mean women should give in and order what the man suggests.
Going to another restaurant is not an option—unless NASA really gets cranking on that colonizing Mars project.
I guess my recipe for utopia would include males relying on intellect, not instinct.
And females … well, why give advice on something you don’t understand?