As far as temperaments go, I’m not what you’d consider laid back. I’m no incensed insult-slinging Donald Trump, but those who know me best would never use the following words to describe me:
In fact, I’m quite flappable. And if you get me flapping, I’m the flappiest flapper to ever flap.
I panic in a crisis (not my best quality), tend to yell swears when frightened, and I’ve been known to have ‘roid rage-esque responses when in traffic. See? Very flappable…
But, in spite of my inclination to flip the eff out, I’m also fairly reasonable, gentle, and thoughtful. I know this about myself because I could have never snagged a man like my husband if I were a full-blown lunatic. And my friends? They’re pretty much the best people walking the face of this earth, and our pals are reflections of us, so in that respect, I’m A-OK. Basically, I’m normal. I’ve got my good qualities, my bad ones, and my quirks (all light switches must be facing the same direction or I’ll cut a bitch). So, I’m semi-normal…
All reasonable thought and normalcy are out the window when someone–especially a fellow female–tells me to stop using my brain and just be pretty. Shut your mouth and make me laugh, clown!
Oh, yes. It has been said numerous times, most recently on a Facebook post where I attempted to have a conversation about white privilege. Some of the commenters made me sad because they couldn’t see how their responses were the epitome of said white privilege, but that’s not what infuriated me. It was one woman’s refusal to acknowledge or appreciate her counterparts’ ability to wear many hats. I hate that phrase, but it fits here, work with me.
When I began a dialogue about something that matters a great deal to me (and our country…), I was told to stick to being funny. Like it’s not fair to my readers if I don’t make them laugh. Like I’m not capable of having an intelligent thought because SMART GIRLS AREN’T FUNNY. Like I’m here solely for her amusement and if I didn’t serve up her daily tee-hee, she was going to leave my page.
Don’t let the door hit ya where the good lord split ya, lady. Also? GFY.
The comics and writers I admire most are the ones who flex their brains when they open their mouths. Intelligent humor and satire à la George Carlin, Richard Pryor, David Sedaris, Tina Fey can make us uncomfortable because they’re so good at wrapping up the truth in a giggle; it’s not until we’ve digested their joke that we feel the acidic burn of indigestion. The hard topics and those comics go hand-in-hand, and they’ve never apologized for trying to make an intelligent contribution while making us laugh.
Now that’s my kind of humor.
I also enjoy a good fart joke and an Adam Sandler movie now and then, but hey–I’m only human.
When anyone, especially a fellow female, tries to pigeon-hole us gals into one genre, or refuses to understand the acute responsibility we have as women and mothers to talk about the hard stuff, it makes me flappy. VERY FLAPPY. And you know what else? It makes me sad. Sad for the lady on my Facebook page and anyone who agrees with her. Because they’re teaching our children it’s not okay for women to be multi-dimensional. They’re implying we have no place in politics or important conversations. They’re sending the message that we should play nice little hostess, ensuring everyone is comfortable and enjoying themselves.
More tea? Less talk?
Eff that noise.
Ladies, our aprons came off decades ago and for good reason: because we matter. What we say and think and do matters. It matters in our homes, in our communities, and it absolutely matters on a national level. I will veer from the funny and I will continue talking about the topics that make some of you uncomfortable. Because it matters. And because I’m grateful to live in a time where I only wear my apron when I want to.