When I was a freshman in college, I took a women's studies class. At the time, I remember being a little taken aback by how much the study of women centered on the ways men were wrong - almost as though we are more defined by other people rather than ourselves - but being a bubble headed 18 year old I obediently sucked up the professor's rants and regurgitated them in the appropriate papers and essay questions. I did very well in that class.
One of the rants I remember was about pregnancy and breast feeding. It made the professor INSANE when people suggested that the state of gestating or lactating somehow affected women's intelligence.
"As THOUGH," she raged, "our brains are located in our UTERUS or BREASTS!" It was just one more of society's LIES, designed to form a CAGE around WOMEN.
Ah, would that I could revisit that classroom, that lecture, that point. If only I could inhabit my youthful taut body, crease that unlined brow, and raise my manicured hand. "Professor?" I could say in a clear, invigorated voice, "Professor - BITE ME."
Because YES, I am a valuable human being, separate from my reproductive ability. I have a unique viewpoint and insight to share with the world. But also? I am currently dumb as a rock.
The other day I went grocery shopping. I parked my van and walked to the front of the store to pick out a shopping cart. It was then that I realized I'd left my reusable fabric shopping bags in the back of the van, so I turned right around and headed back to retrieve them. I walked up to the van, pressing my little "unlock" button. Repeatedly. But the lights were not flashing, and I heard no unlock CLUNK, which was weird. That's when I noticed the dent in the bumper.
I gaped. I turned around in a circle, looking for who...what...HOW? I said something aloud that I would TRY not to say in front of the kids. WHAT HAPPENED TO MY VAN?
Understand, the bumper isn't made of metal or anything, so it wasn't an actual dent - more like a crease where the plastic had been folded in deeply, then popped back. A large swath of paint had flaked off, revealing black plastic. I couldn't have backed into something - THAT HARD - without being aware of it, could I? Did someone run into me? WHAT HAPPENED TO MY VAN?
As I stood there, hyperventilating slightly, my gaze drifted to the license plate. IT WAS WRONG TOO.
Wait.
This wasn't my van.
I stepped back and glanced around, trying to act like I hadn't just been having a kitten over someone else's bumper damage. I looked around casually, and there was my van. In a whole 'nother row. Facing the other direction.I strolled over to it, collected my bags, and went off to do my shopping. And forgot to lock the van.
Now, in my defense, I drive a gold Odyssey, and statistically speaking, odds are pretty good you do too. There's a lot of them, is what I mean. (By "statistically" I mean "based upon my totally subjective observation that there seem to be a lot of them everywhere since I got mine and I notice them now" not "actually having anything to do with statistics.") On the other hand, it wasn't like I'd been in the store for an hour. I'd walked from the parking lot to the front of the store, turned around, and wandered away like a puppy who'd caught a whiff of some particularly appealing butt.
And so it goes with me lately. I keep doing things like returning the peanut butter to the fridge and stashing the jelly in the cupboard. And although my former professor would claim that I am buying into the patriarchy's contemptuous view of women and their ability, I would ask this: when YOU are engaged in THE MOST COMPLEX sort of creative work you've ever done, how much brain power do YOU have left over for inanities like parking spots? I rest my case.
And now - proving that I still have a clear grasp of the important - time for a nap!