When I got into my car today after work, the windshield had iced over. I don’t own an icescraper yet, and the deicing fluid thingy didn’t do the trick. So me out with a creditcard, deicing the glass. And I stood there thinking to myself, ‘Alright, another great thing about being in a relationship. This is definitely one of those things men are good at. Making sure there’s always deicing fluid on the car through the winter. Putting oil on the car. And defrosting the windshield in the morning when it’s horribly cold…’
Yes, I was spoiled in some ways in my marriage, but I did spoil him back. Not cause it was a quid pro quo thing, but because I wanted to. It’s what you do, when you love someone, isn’t it? I loved being the housewife. I washed his clothes, kept our home, I cooked endless two or three course dinners, lit candles. Baked. Like, a lot. I love baking. It’s how I ground myself. When I have an oven running with bread or cake in it, more in the making in my KitchenAid and a little flour in my hair, I’m happy.
It’s no lie that men and women are built differently. Physically and mentally. Genetically we’re designed to be good at different things. I’m not saying men can’t be great cooks or women strong, but cooking makes me happy. Cooking for my man makes me even more happy. I don’t give a shit this is 2013 and not 1950. I’ll still adore putting on an apron and cooking for my man.
Feminism is a mystery to me. I don’t get it. I just don’t understand the kind of women, that’ll go;
‘There’s no f*cking way I’ll cook every night, HE has to cook too! You really do it –every- night?! *insert horrified expression topped with a slight pout*’, or
‘Wow, you can’t put oil on your car, Inside? What is this, the 1950’s?’
I don’t see the loss of my independence as a human being or wavering the right to equal pay, by feeding my family homecooked meals. The only thing –I- see, when I hear a woman say ‘He has to do it TOO, I’m not his –maid-!!’ is a big, fat, ridiculous protest by an insecure woman who hangs her identity on being a feminist, finding some strength in that label. I honestly believe women encouraging feminism nowadays comes from a point of massive insecurity and generally feeling intimidated by men. It’s 2013, for crying out loud. Could someone take the feminists by the hand, and follow them into the 21st century, to join the rest of us?
‘What do you want for dinner, darling?’ I’ll proudly ask my man. –Especially- in front of said feminists. It’s not like I’ll bow my head and go ‘Yes, Master’ (outside of the bedroom, anyway…) when he expresses his dinner cravings. I ask him because I –want- to please him. It has shit to do with me being anyone’s maid. It’s about doing what you’re good at. About feeding your family and caring for one another. Doing what you’re made for. Not because I’ll get into trouble if I cook something he happens to not like. Not because I click heels and salute when Al Bundy vs. 2.0 comes home and grunts to me ‘Woman. Food. NOW!’ with an annoyed look and tone. Alpha’s aren’t assholes. Alpha’s can be perfect gentlemen.
Knowing there’s more snow and ice coming to glaze over my world, there’s no doubt that an Alpha who was a gentleman as well would have been a God’s gift during these long, cold winter months.
A beta would ask in a gentle voice ‘Erm … yeah, want me to … get the ice … off the windshield? Maybe?’, deadly afraid he’d insult me by implying I wasn’t capable of doing it myself.
An alpha would command in a warm, but firm tone, ‘Get in the car, baby. I got it.’
… And until the day I’m ready to meet my own Alpha, I’m happy my car has a garage to sleep in, so –I- don’t have to get cold fingers in the morning. 😉