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It happens. My little girly brain thinks about things; even stuff not relating to ducks. But, as you know, thinking is tough for the penis-less. We’re just silly girls made for pairing and breeding; not thinking or obstinately expressing those thoughts. I mean, what else are we here for? Not much else, I can assure you. As a woman, it’s unconscionable to be carrying around an unused uterus like I do. It is simply a defiant protest against nature, God, and true American Values. Shame, shame, shame on us childless, wasteful, worthless meat sacks that take up space and valuable oxygen that should be reserved for the precious children borne from the fertile, silent, white-gowned, obedient ones.

This EXTREMELY sarcastic conclusion comes from the recent news and made-for-tv movies surrounding the 20th anniversary of the murder of JonBenet Ramsey. It is also sparked by the literal, non-stop loop of Dateline I always have on.

Watching these shows, I’m inevitably irked and pretty disgusted by the identical refrain parroted by the loved ones of dead or missing women. (I could add, “sad” about their horribly violent deaths but…whatever.)

But it’s this drivel that gets me all riled up:

“We’ll never get to see her get married, have children…”

Not to diminish anyone’s grief. I can try to imagine losing someone to the myriad ways depicted on shows like Dateline. The loss of a loved one is always a heartbreak, violently losing one must be almost unbearable. I get that.

However, what pisses me off is why are these things, marriage and children, the only markers people use to express their regret of a life cut short? Why do these loved ones exemplify their loss by only using these assumed events?

I find it extremely condescending. It’s assumptive and belittling to reduce a woman’s greatest future milestones to marriage and family. What if, gee, I don’t know, she never wanted kids? What if she didn’t believe in the institution of marriage? What if her greatest goal in life was to cure cancer, orbit the earth, land on mars, map the sea floor? What if her greatest goal in life was to do what no one ever had before and change the world? What if her assumed milestone was to be an educated and productive member of society?

Marriage and family shouldn’t be what defines her nor should it be what others assume for her. What if her family stood in praise for her accomplishing things that actually took talent, skill, and determination? What if the people who loved her looked forward to her future in terms of mindful accomplishments, such as: graduation from college? Starting her own business? Successfully helping someone in need?

In almost every single show, there is the automatic, robotic regret of not seeing this lost loved one reach these common events, of pairing up and breeding, and along with it, the implication that it’s her sole purpose and not the pedestrian, biological events they are.

Because, guess what? I got news for you out there who think you’re somehow special for having spewed out some resource sponge—you’re not special. There are three billion other people in this world that are born with the same ability. They’re called “every other woman in the world.”

–Which leads me to a side rant I must throw in: Motherhood is NOT the hardest job in the world, people. If it were, there’d be 6000 people on the planet instead of the six billion we got now. And, by the way, the goal is to raise a responsible, contributing adult, not the snot-nosed little asshole you post potty pictures of on Facebook every day you leave to television to raise after age five. Oh and this last thing, kids DO have users’ manuals. Check Amazon.com. There are tens of thousands of child-rearing books out there. Pick. One. Up for once and quit using your laziness as an excuse for your bad parenting. —

Now that I’ve successfully alienated most of my readership, I still want to get my point across to you remaining three.

My point, as is usually clouded by some randomness on my part, is that there needs to be a sea-change in how we view women’s futures and purposes in life. Because our loved ones’ regrets shouldn’t be the loss of the passage of such pedestrian, mindless rites. The automatic response should be indicative of the complex people we are, not just that of the uterine-possessing.

Every little girl should be looking towards her future as, even assuming it to be, filled with trial and hard work in order to accomplish great things for the benefit of society or herself. She should see marriage and having children as an option, a possibility, a choice, if and when she decides it’ll fit into her plans of accomplishing things that not every frickin’ woman in the world can do.

The anticipated future of all women should be looked at in terms that define her as a woman of skill, determination, strength, and acumen. It should automatic and expected. That is what should be common.

Because we’re all so much more than that. We’re worth so much more than babies and “our one big day”.

So, when my Dateline airs, because someone has finally had enough of my “thinkin’” and has buried me in a canyon somewhere really close to our house at the moment, please don’t ever express your regret in terms of witnessing my stumble down the aisle or the birth of my cross-eyed mini-me. Regret the things that actually define the intelligent, capable, weird, obnoxious person I am and what I could do.

As a little treat for your patience, weary reader, a word of warning: just in case I don’t make it to witness the enlightenment of current attitudes, if anyone does utter the words, “we’ll never see her get married and have kids,” to Keith Morrison regarding my bizarre brake fluid/hockey stick death, I’m coming to your house and, skillfully…haunting the fuck out of you.

 

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