Still the second sex

On occasion, in my little hyper-feminist bubble, I forget that women are still relegated to the status of "second sex." My current living situation has allowed that this fact will never again slip my mind. It's not that I *always* feel outnumbered and isolated living with four men; they're fun-loving, energetic, and all around not so bad dudes. But, they're still dudes. On a day-to-day basis, I've got a lot of representin' to do, and I spend a lot of time trying to silently negotiate my minority status: as the only woman, the only self-identified feminist, as the token "queer," as the gender terrorist and sex worker advocate.

Why a silent negotiation, you ask? Isn't it my feminist duty to nip every instance of nauseating heterosexism in the bud? I am woman hear me roar, right?

Right. But even as I write this, I can feel myself growing tired. I am not tired of fighting, but I am tired of fighting the wrong fights with the wrong people at the wrong times. I am at a place in my life where I experience incongruity around every turn. I hear it when men talk about women. I hear it when women talk about sex workers. Hell, I even hear it when most women talk about other women. It is an incongruity born of ignorance and insensitivity, and we're all guilty of it from time to time. But those of us who try our damnedest to remain "in tune" must also remain on the defensive. We're hypersensitive to the type of trash talk that many people would never think twice about. It wears you down, always brandishing an emotional shield in one arm and a worn copy of the Feminine Mystique in the other. It is for this reason that I choose my battles carefully.

But, back to the second sex.

I was watching television with the domestic sausagefest tonight when the comment was made. In the show, a married woman sleeps with another man (her husband, who is a hardworking provider, is also incredibly hostile and emotionally neglectful). One of my television companions referred to the woman as "cheating whore." He then went on to say:

"When you cheat on someone you're dating you're a bitch. But when you get married, you make a vow. When you make that vow, you agree to keep it. If you break that vow, you're a filthy, cheating whore."

This type of comment gets my blood boiling, but it's these comments that I've learned to let go. As much as it pains me (and it does!), I let them go. This type of comment lends moral supremacy to marriage and monogamy. This type of comment invalidates individual experience. This type of comment insinuates that only women (the whores) commit adultery and should be duly punished. It sucks big time, and it makes me want to pull every hair out of my head, but I file it away in my mental "dickwad" log and I save my fight for another day.

My mother spent twenty years trying to fight this war in vain. She nearly abandoned her voice in the process. It wasn't until many years later, when she sought experiences *outside* of her marriage, that she began to realize she wasn't just a worthless woman in a loveless world. So yes, I'm rather biased, but I *know* the problem doesn't lie in the poisoned laps of the filthy, cheating whores.