Portrait of a senior man on a white background.

We are not to be believed.

We are not to be trusted.

We do not know anything, including facts about ourselves.

We are Women.

And so the last couple of weeks has gone by, having to interact with men.

Men who talk to me like I can’t hear.

Men who talk me like I don’t understand basic concepts.

Men who question my work ethic.

Then while I’m at home, my 4 1/2 year old son is in my face wanting something. Needing something. Demanding something.

And I have nothing left to give.

Or rather, I have something to give, but at my discretion, my choosing, my timing.

I don’t know, maybe I’d be a better mother if I didn’t live in a patriarchy. Maybe I’d have more mental energy and compassion if I didn’t spend a huge chunk of my time dealing with men who treat women like second class humans. Maybe I’d be happier if the president of the country I currently reside wasn’t The Worst Man on Earth.

I suppose there’s no reason to think about the impossible.

I cannot enter any transaction without a man somehow controlling it. Getting a loan. Getting a car. Getting a house. Getting my degree. Getting insurance. Getting a job.

There is always a man at the other end of the line, exasperated, impatient, condescending, unapologetic, rude. Usually they are older, close to or in retirement, literally yelling at a cloud in the sky that they still matter, that they demand to be heard, still managing to wield power and attention.

All I’m trying to do is live my life and wish their irrelevant self importance would stop getting in the way of that.

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