Men, being human and male, can be callous and stupid and cruel. OK, some are gems, but the majority are unenlightened swine. Plus, some of them smell bad. Yet even swine can be taught to perform simple actions and tasks through operant conditioning. Can we, using some method, find a way to introduce higher level thinking among men?
Sure. Torture. Women’s shoes.
Yeah, yeah, yeah. Heels. Not Birkenstocks, which look as if a calf is wandering around saying, “Now what the HELL happened to my left butt cheek?” I’m talking HEELS, baby, cute shoes—pumps! Lovely Italian leather, of such soft rich outfit-coordinating color that the wearer just won’t look as damn good if s/he switches to alternate comfortable (read: ugly) footwear.
Some men snicker at women for being weak, but sneer at them for appearing “unfeminine.” Put high school football jocks in heels for a week and watch their respect for women soar. Send those boys out shopping in cute shoes, with sore ankles and pinched heels and watch as they tote those bags of groceries. They won’t last long enough to microwave a bowl of popcorn, let alone do any washing up.
Once men experience the agony some women put themselves through in the name of lookin’ good, they might actually appreciate the effort it took to get that way.
Women aren’t weak- we have more stamina, and can push nine pounds of baby flesh through our pelvis and still get up, shower, then vacuum the front hall rug. Most men take sick leave for a paper cut and insist on showing it to everybody. Listen, 36 agonizing hours of labor spent giving birth to my baby literally tore me a new one, but does anyone care? No, they’re all worry about how Lance slipped on course at Tour de France and lost six seconds (and that’s among the literate group.)
Putting men in our prettiest shoes will show them the decisions we face daily: comfort vs. fashion. A high tight ass over blistered hells and aching feet, or a soggy butt slumped over washable Keds? Acting like a woman, or putting on a show as a girly girl? Meeting our needs, or trying to attract someone who will give up praise, sex, and half his paycheck?
I think of myself as a person, rather than a woman, and for this I have paid dearly. I wear comfortable shoes, because a) they’re comfortable, and b) I have to do a ton of sh-t daily to keep my daughter fed. And I do wonder, if perhaps my mother is right: if I had kept myself in heels and lipstick, there would be a man around to give me compliments and money and hot monkey lovin’—but I didn’t, and there isn’t, and from the look of things, there won’t be.
But perhaps I’d have more respect from male colleagues if they took off their loafers, stepped into a pair of Manolos, and tried to balance my checkbook while stirring a boiling pot of fudge, talking on the phone, listening to my daughter, taking that bottle of Scotch out of my mother’s hands, and planning next week’s work schedule. Maybe they wouldn’t get ME, but they might just get off my back about “not looking very feminine.” (See Roseanne Barr’s classic response to that.)
Put them in my Pradas. They wouldn’t last a week.
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