Notice Me...NOTICE ME!!!

Most of the time, I am glad to be an equalist. For those who may not understand what that is or what that stands for, the explanation is fairly simple: I believe in equal treatment for every race, gender, class, income level, s*xual persuasion and creed. I detest feminism because it's non-equalist; it presents women as more important or smarter than men. Being a woman dominating men, just because men dominated women at one point, is the ideological equivilent of punching little Jimmy in the face because he punched you first. And we all know what our Mums said about hitting, right?

I believe in having the door held open for me, and I believe in holding the door for others. I believe in courtesy towards all, including me. Nothing excuses rudeness, not even being disabled, riding the crimson wave, and especially not feminism. The rudest people I have met are feminists, who snap at me that I shouldn't be enjoying my modest lifestyle in the suburbs. Aparantly, I have "rejected the cause by adopting the shackles of man". Call me kooky, but I like to cook, I have my little crafty hobbies, I love MB and I love my house and my pets. To them though, this is all wrong...I should be making placards and growing out my armpit hair, or at the very least, b*tching about people holding doors open for me. I still love my feminist sistas, but would prefer it if they would just shut up every now and then. It's really hard to call yourself pro-choice when the only choice you are allowed to have is theirs.

Anyhoo, the real reason about this post is that I had a very non-feminist experience yesterday...a Brazilian. This was certainly not my first time, but it did give me a bit of an epihany. I realized for the first time quite how much stock I put in my appearance. Here I was, biting down on one of those little wooden spatulas, all for the sake of inner (believe me, it was inner) beauty. No-one except for MB was going to see this, but I would know, and it made me feel powerful and pathetic at the same time. All that pain, all those contortions, for what outcome? To make me feel good? To make MB feel good? One minute I was feeling "S*x in the City" the next I was feeling very Guantanamo Bay.

Later on, while gingerly shifting my weight from foot to foot and looking at flip-flops, I also realized that I was very concerned about being in a bikini. I am part way through a gym program that I affectionately dubbed the "Get-off-your-lardy-*ss-and-do-some-sit-ups-for-Christsakes" plan. Now, I'm not overweight, I just need a "lift". Wow, I could almost those chants of "Conformer!!".

Am I becoming some sort of vain, self-involved, beauty junkie? Or am I just getting real with myself? Why do I suffer for my art :)

Then I realized that I would expect the very same from MB. I want to look good for him AND me, and I would want him to feel the same about his appearance. After three years, I still make an effort, which is more than can be said for others who fall into the trackpants and hairy legged phase after about 6 months of cohabitation. MB has been gyming it for the last little while too, and while I won't go into his personal grooming techniques, he's not too shabby in that department either.

Ah, I remain an equalist.