After reading yesterday�s entry, it�s perfectly reasonable to conclude that I�m a conceited bitch. You�d be wrong. But it would be an understandable mistake.
What I am is confident. I�m sure of who I am, what I can do, and what I want. And I�m comfortable with who I see in the mirror every morning. I know her. And knowing her, I like her.
I feel at ease with expressing my healthy sense of self-worth, because it was hard won. I fought for it. It�s mine. So, I won�t pretend to be anything else. And I certainly won�t acquiesce in order to appease anyone�s insecurities.
I�ve wondered whether this is one of the reasons that I am single. I�ve yet to meet a man who can deal with a strong, independent, intelligent, professional woman. Now, I realize that I�m clumping together the world�s male population with this type of broad characterization. And, I also realize that generalizations are usually both inaccurate and unfair. But, let me give you an example of what I�m talking about.
My friend, Steph, from law school, is a lot like me. She�s got her shit together and she knows it. She�s beautiful and smart and can kick ass in the courtroom. She�s also a wonderful mother, a considerate daughter, and a loving friend. Good catch, you�d think?
Well, her husband didn�t think so. Our third year of law school, about a month after she�d become pregnant with her second child, her husband comes home and announces that he doesn�t want to be married to her, that he wants a �regular� girl, someone who drinks beer and likes Spam. (I kid you not, those were his words. Now, Steph can appreciate a cold beer just as much as the next person. Admittedly, she won�t touch Spam. But remember, I told you she was smart.) What made the Spam lovin�, beer drinkin� girl that he was fucking a �regular� girl, and thus more suitable than Steph, was that she wasn�t six months from law school graduation, a bright legal career, and a paycheck twice as big as the one he brought home. Insecurity reared it�s ugly head and the marriage crumbled.
So, yeah, the generalization might be both inaccurate and unfair, but the fact remains that I�ve yet to meet a man who doesn�t cower or run at the thought of being in a relationship with a woman who is not only his equal, but who knows it and doesn�t mind reminding him of it should it slip his mind. I�m not saying they�re not out there. In fact, I�d likely plunge into the depths of hopelessness if I really believed they weren�t out there. I just haven�t met any. Yet.
I guess one of the reasons this has been on my mind is because I�m accosted with red and pink valentine�s crap every time I walk into a store. Bah-humbug! Oh, sorry, wrong holiday. Phoey! I don�t appreciate when the commercial gods deluge me with heart shaped merchandise until it starts to seem somehow wrong that I�m not part of a couple. To repeat, phoey!
I did find amusing, though, an article a friend emailed to me about the heart as an ideogram, not only for romantic love, but as a symbol of female genitalia. That�s right, folks, all those heart shaped candles, mirrors, candies, and cards that are currently filling the shelves of your local Target, are all symbols of the vagina. Red and pink vaginas everywhere. What would those couplet writing saps at Hallmark do with that?
Well, if you�ve somehow made it through to the end of this tirade, I should probably apologize. But I won�t. It�s my journal, damn it. If you don�t like it, don�t read it. (See why I have a hard time finding a man? Maybe I am just a bitch after all.)
In any case, before I go, I need to say thanks to tattodnanny for adding me as a favorite.
Listening To:
Reading:
Feeling: