So, sometimes I kind of like think that men – well, I mean sexist men, essentially – are kind of jealous of women’s bodies. And I don’t know why they should be, but it sometimes seems like they are. I think they’re especially jealous of breastfeeding and periods. I think all that stuff about penis-envy is, essentially, made-up. Classic projection.
Because the thing is, otherwise, if they’re not jealous, then they should be really happy. I would be really happy if I were a man. Men’s lives are better than women’s. We do all the housework, only now we go out to work, as well, but we usually get in before they do, and then, when they do get in, we serve them dinner, on a tray, in the sofa, in the living room, and they sit there contentedly, munching away, watching the football, whilst we kneel on a cold, hard floor, sucking them off, the tray balancing on our heads. Then they cum in our mouths and we stand up and go and do the washing up.
I mean, sexist men should be soooooooooooooooooooooooo happy. I would be, literally, sooooooooooooooooooooooooo happy if I were a sexist man. Life’s shit for women, and it’s great for men. They get all the great jobs, we get all the rubbish ones. They can go to flat-rate puffs and strip-tease bars every single night of the week. They can do whatever the fuck they want. They basically more-or-less always get away with rape – and if they’d just (dur, boys) remember to turn their camera phones off they’d always get away with it. There’s only one woman on the British bank notes. Only four percent of the people in the top executive German board type thingies are women. If I was a sexist man, I’d be having a “Sexism Is Great, and Being a Man Is Fucking Fantastic!” Party every night of the week.
But here’s the weird, weird, weird thing. SEXIST MEN AREN’T HAPPY. Male feminists are much, much happier than they are. They get upset about sexism and patriarchy, of course, you tell them a story about how you got touched up on the U-Bahn once and they become upset, for a few minutes, or, like, during the Aufschrei, when lots of fairly normal people “liked” that meaningless Birgit Kelle article on Facebook (So, I guess I’d better summarize the Christian fundamentalist propaganda article for you, just in case you missed it the first time round: “Oh I am glad I’m not a man in a world where teenage girls are allowed to own vaginas, push-up bras and eyeliners at the same time, my penis would explode, guess I better apply for asylum to Afghanistan if this Aufschrei goes on for much longer.” PS: Anyone who liked this article should literally either be shot or not allowed to vote, or preferably both, or at the very least their teenage daughters taken off of them by the Jugendamt.). Then the feminist boys were sad, and said sad, bitter stuff like: “I just can’t believe how many Facebook friends of mine liked that stupid article. I was going to delete everyone who liked it but in the end I couldn’t be bothered. I just think they couldn’t have read it all the way through.” So, feminist boys get upset about sexism in society, unjust things that have happened, girlfriends who’ve been raped, shit like that.
But sexist boys get really depressed, mentalist, paranoid, utterly miserable about LIFE ITSELF. They hate life and they hate women. It’s interesting, too, how they hate all women, although, obviously, they hate feminist women the most. But really, there’s not much in it. They literally hate all of us quite a lot. These boys hate women who wear sexy clothes and women who shave their heads and wear dungarees. They even manage to drum up a bit of hatred for women in burkas. They hate women who go out to work and leave the kids in daycare but they also hate women who stay at home and leech off their husbands. And they hate women who get custody of their kids but they also hate Rabenmüttis who dump their kids on their ex-husbands on a Friday night and go out discoing.
So, none of this has, I think, anything to do with any real power. Sure, we women have a bit more power than we did in Jane Austen’s time – we can vote, we can inherit, etc. We can drive. I’m not complaining – we have a bit more power than we used to. But it’s not enough to be jealous of. They’re not jealous of our power. They can’t be. They’re jealous of our bodies.
And the weirdest thing is, I kind of think they’re right to be. Women’s bodies are really great. I mean, don’t get me wrong, men’s bodies are nice, too – nice enough, anyway – but women’s bodies are really FUN. It is really fun and exhilarating, being on your period, especially when the lumps come out, when they fall on the floor, like a Jackson Pollock painting. Like you wince and you grimace, but you also laugh with joy. I’m sure sperm is nice – well, I’ve seen it often enough, it’s lovely – but it doesn’t splatter everywhere in quite the same satisfying way.
Also breastfeeding. Now, I think people who are against breastfeeding are very, very naughty. Because it’s just someone feeding their kid, you know? And I know people get so pissed off about women breastfeeding in public because they think these women are trying to exhibit themselves sexually, and people find that confusing – and disgusting. Like, they want to find breasts sexy but there’s a baby’s head in the way and so they feel all confused and disgusted, mainly because they feel slightly guilty, possibly even paedophilic. I think there’s something slightly perverted in feeling too disgusted by breastfeeding. I think a normal reaction would be to acknowledge this deviant side to yourself, repress it, look away and let the baby enjoy their breast milk. I think the people, especially the men, who take to Twitter to write things like: “EW! Gross! A lady is nursing right in front of me! Put your tit away, love!” are very naughty and slightly sick.
But the thing is: they wouldn’t get so mad if they weren’t a bit jealous, too. And they are kind of right to be jealous. Breastfeeding is this amazing, and sorry to be esoteric here but bear with me, spiritual experience. It’s really great. It’s so spiritual, it’s almost erotic. It’s also very leaky, you leak a lot, and that’s very funny. I know men can pee on trees, but when you breastfeed, you leak without meaning to. That’s hilarious! My left tit leaked a lot more than my right one, I always felt very proud of that. It’s a lovely feeling.
And I wouldn’t give up that very leaky, totally spiritual and almost erotic experience for anything in the world. Not even a flat-rate brothel. I just wouldn’t do it.
I think this is the key to understanding why sexist boys are so miserable. Most women, whether they be feminists, basically-feminists-but-pretending-not-to-be-coz-they-don’t-like-the-word, genuinely non-feminist, or even anti-feminist, when you get down to it, they love having a female body. They might hate their bodies, and they might do all this fucked up stuff to their bodies, I’m thinking anorexia and Botox here, but they also love the femaleness of it. They love periods, and they love breastfeeding, and even all that crap they do, waxing and stuff, even though it is born out of a hatred of being a woman, it’s still, in an obscene way, a celebration of the physical form. Women’s magazines have to work quite hard at getting us to really hate ourselves. Our natural state is one of self-love, fascination and forgiveness. And a little bit of vanity.
But these sexist boys? They aren’t in love with the male body at all. They’re not proud of their penises or delighted with their bollocks. Instead, they’re just jealous of women’s bodies. Of course they are, who could be jealous of one woman on one bank note? Of one woman leader in the whole of Europe? Of a Flexiquote? Of 30 percent? Of rape being theoretically a crime? Of course they’re not jealous of these tiny little scraps of power women have carved out for themselves. These MRA-types are losers, I’ll give you that, but they’re not as ridiculous as that. No, they’re jealous of period blood, and the way it splatters all over the bathroom floor when you take out a tampon you’ve left in for too long. That’s all.
So, this is where I have a really good suggestion to make. I hope A Modern Rose doesn’t think I’m encroaching on her territory. What we all need to do, is: we need to invite our most sexist mate over for dinner. The one who posted that Kalle article and wrote underneath “There’s nothing more to be said on the matter.” Invite him over and bake some muffins – but while you’re baking, dribble a little bit – just a tiny bit – I’d suggest at least 100ml – of menstrual fluid into the muffin mixture. You know when to add it in? When you add in all the wet ingredients, I dunno, the egg and the milk and that. I think it will do him the world of good. I think it will cure him, basically. And once he’s cured, he’ll feel better. Because it’s a terrible affliction to be suffering from, you know, that very serious, painful, debilitating condition known as… menstrual envy.
Don’t forget you can hear Jacinta reading live every Wednesday at 9pm in Mauersegler.