I’m sorry. That’s what I want to say to any woman reading this. I’m just flat-out sorry.
The world is trying to squash you like an albino cockroach, and you deserve an apology.
Today’s modern female is expected to be a walking-talking industrialized domestic machine.
If she’s not busy bathing toddlers, dropping kids at soccer, or changing her own transmission fluid, she’s supposed to be planning a three-course supper, scrubbing dirty underwear, learning a foreign language, or making her living room fit for HGTV.
She must be a certain size, weight, width, she must have a gym membership, a midsection stronger than most outboard motors, tight underarms, young-looking hands, perfect teeth, slender neck, soft-spoken voice, no gray hairs, no eye wrinkles, and the amiable disposition of Princess Grace of Monaco.
I’m even sorrier for young girls.
Not that it matters what I think, but I believe television and magazines are trying to ruin females.
Take a gander at the magazine racks in the Piggly Wiggly. Half-naked bodies on
magazine covers. Pop-stars dressed like senators from Planet Krypton. Reality television hosts with plastic hindparts.
Anyway, the reason I am writing this is because of my friend’s daughter. Her name is not important. But let's call her, Little Miss Alabama.
She is in seventh grade, top of her class. An athlete, a social butterfly, a horseback rider, fluent in Spanish, math wiz, funny, kindhearted, and well-loved.
Miss Alabama has dreams of attending Auburn University, she wants to study zoology, she is pretty, has brown hair, blue eyes, flawless health.
She has aided in the birth of exactly three colts. She can spit farther than any boy, and cook just as well as granny alive. I know this; I have eaten her biscuits.
And she hates herself.…