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When I was growing up, the idea of paying someone to clean the house or do yard work was unthinkable. This was due, mostly, to the fact that my family was pretty poor – it was a luxury we couldn’t afford. But, there was also a cultural or psychological element – my parents were both of the “why would you pay for something that you can do yourself?” mindset. In my father, this was attributable to his general fix-it philosophy – he’s a man who actually likes to tinker with things. My mother’s situation was more complex: Raised in a traditional Southern family – but not a wealthy one – she inherited the idea that a real woman should be able to keep her house spotless, her children clean and well-dressed, put a full meal on the table every night, and keep everyone happy. But, being a twentieth-century woman, she wasn’t allowed to pay anyone to help her – that was a sign of weakness. These untenable standards had the effect on my mother that they had on so many women: depression, sense of failure, resentment, etc. Despite the fact that I closely observed how she suffered trying to do everything herself, I still absorbed the idea that domestic help was an indulgence reserved for the rich and spoiled – not for the likes of me.
Recently I found myself talking with a group of other female faculty, representing many different departments and disciplines from across Unnamed U. Somehow the topic of housekeepers* came up – and suddenly all of these women began to admit (there is no better word for it) that they had housekeepers and were so grateful for their labor but also incredibly guilty. The conversation took on a distinctly confessional tone, as they reassured each other that it was perfectly okay, that they are professionals with many responsibilities and duties, that they can’t be expected to do it all, etc. It was a little awkward when I said that I don’t have a housekeeper – but it was quickly explained by the fact that I don’t have children – all of these professors are also mothers, which was a major plank in their explanatory discourse.
This is all to say that I’ve been thinking a lot about hiring someone to clean my house, but it’s a fraught issue for me.
On the one hand, I can muster a number of arguments against it:
The Marxist in me recoils at the very idea of participating in an exploitative practice in which I would use my economic privilege to have someone perform labor that I could totally do myself, but I just don’t want to do.
The new age-y/ yogic / Buddhist in me questions whether I am letting my possessions define me to the extent of paying someone else to take care of them – and instructs me to scale back my life if it has become that complicated and over-burdened.
The Feminist in me is practically not even speaking to me, because she knows that domestic labor is unfairly distributed not just on women, but on immigrant women or women of color, the working poor whose lack of opportunities are intrinsically linked to my own class and race privilege.
And, the completely shy and socially embarrassed part cannot imagine letting a stranger into my house to see my dirty, slovenly ways.
All really good reasons for NOT hiring a housekeeper.
On the other hand, I’ve become increasingly frustrated and impatient with cleaning my own house. It’s so time consuming that I usually do a shoddy job – just good enough to get by – so the house is rarely clean enough to invite anyone over, we generally don’t have guests over and, when we do, we have to do a marathon cleaning first. Meanwhile, Golden Boy and I snip at each other about the necessary duties, and get outright surly on the days we set aside to clean. (I should mention, for the record, that GB is really great about do his part – often picking up my slack when I’m particularly harried.)
The Marxist in me says: why not redistribute the wealth in a very direct and immediate way by hiring someone to do certain labor, but treating them with respect and paying them a living wage?
The new age-y/ yogic / Buddhist says: maybe you’d actually have time to do yoga if you didn’t feel obligated to make time to scoop cat boxes, do laundry, and other tasks everyday.
The Feminist says: You should not be enslaved to some oppressive ideal of womanhood that expects you to do it all and well. Admit to yourself that you have made certain lifestyle choices such as putting your career before other things, and one of the costs of that is that you cannot keep your house spotless. And, if you pay another woman well and treat her with respect, why shouldn’t she clean it for you?
The shy part of me says: Fuck it! Who cares? At least the kitchen floor will get mopped every once in a while.
As always, I am a divided subject.
So, I appeal to the wisdom of the interwebs – and particularly to you, professional women who are also caught in the family/work bind: Do you pay someone to clean your house? How do you explain the choice to yourself? Are you guilty about it? What do you recommend that I do?
* I’m not entirely sure what the appropriate terminology is — that’s how alien this whole thing is to me. Is it housekeeper, maid, domestic help, or something else? I dunno.
Public Service Announcement to Students Everywhere:
The term you are searching for is feminist, not feministic. In fact, feministic is not a word, which your computer may have been trying to alert you to when it kept underlining it with a red line.
It’s great that you are making an effort to utilize appropriate terminology in your essays, but it’s a writing strategy that will be even more effective if you get the terminology correct.
Feminism is …
Fantastic.
Realistic.
Dynamic.
Strategic.
Democratic.
Anti-chauvinistic.
Down with it.
The fucking shit.
But it is not feministic.
Word.
For years, Golden Boy and I have had a bit that we do, in which we joke about what we did or did not learn in “girl school” or “boy school.”
For example, if I were to do something particularly girly like sew a button on his shirt or arrange a vase of flowers just so, GB will say, “Is that something you learned in girl school?”
However, the joke is more common in the negative. Neither GB nor I particularly conform to gender norms — he’s the bookish, sensitive type, while I like to repair things with large tools — so usually we use this concept in moments when we’re not able to perform as our genders dictate. For example, if GB declines to kill a particularly large, scary bug, I would say, “But, isn’t that a skill you learned in boy school?”
This is apropos of the Lessons for Girls series that Historiann initiated and is archiving. I’ve enjoyed this series immensely and have wanted to participate but whenever I sit down to compose a lesson for girls, I get stuck on the feeling that there are so many lessons I haven’t learned or have yet to learn, who am I to give anyone else advice?
As something of an addendum to the Lessons for Girls, then, I’d like to ruminate on what I never learned in girl school. I don’t mean to suggest that these are lessons I need to have learned, or even that they have any inherent value — but I am acutely aware that, by failing to fulfill them, I would be considered by many to be a failure as a girl/woman.
What I Didn’t Learn in Girl School:
• How to properly apply makeup.
I can remember as a teenager, religiously pouring over fashion magazines and experimenting with makeup. But somewhere along the way I forgot everything I once knew about makeup — I think during the years in which I was becoming radicalized as a feminist, stopped wearing makeup, and became rather cranky about women who did. Now, as a radical feminist and something of a reverse snob, I could not read a fashion magazine even if I wanted to, they are so offensive, nor am I comfortable shopping at those makeup counters at the mall — so I am pretty much out of options in terms of ever learning (again) how to wear makeup. I written before about why there are so many good reasons to not wear makeup, but I have to admit that as I get older, I feel like this is a skill I might miss.
• How to style my hair.
I am one of those women who has one hair style, dictated by whatever hair cut I have at the time. I never learned how to put my hair up or change its texture by straightening it or curling it. I don’t know what to do with headbands, clips, barrettes, bows, scarves, or whatever. I admire women who are able to dramatically change their appearance by changing their hair style — but the prospect of doing it myself seems like fussing with so much nonsense.
• How to get noticed, taken seriously, and respected by salespersons.
I am repeatedly ignored or talked down to when I go shopping. There’s something about me that makes me appear insignificant in salespeople’s eyes. Yes, gender is a factor, and I have seen many a salesperson make a bee-line for Golden Boy, assuming he’s the money-maker and money-spender in our household. In other cases, I think class is the deciding factor, and that my clothing/appearance marks me as lower/middle class, and therefore not a big spender worth cultivating. But, I also think it has something to do with deportment — that I never learned how to carry myself in such a way as to demand and get treated well.
• How to hire, instruct, pay, and generally interact with domestic workers or other workers/laborers in my house.
There are a number of reasons I don’t have a housekeeper but one of the biggest is that I have no idea how to tell someone else how to clean my house. Having not grown up around such class privilege, it’s a rather terrifying prospect to me. But, even when it comes to plumbers, gardeners, electricians, etc., I feel awkward and uncomfortable in how I am supposed to be in relation to them.
• What makes a good/appropriate gift in numerous social circumstances.
House warming? Anniversary? Meeting new in-laws for the first time? Retirement? I am flummoxed. Thank goodness for wedding and baby shower wish-lists — I would be lost without them. Even professional situations like someone getting tenure or my own graduate students defending their degrees — I never know what makes a good gift.
• How to cook for entertaining.
I am a pretty good cook for day-to-day purposes. I think I do a pretty good job at keeping GB well fed on healthy but delicious food. But, when it comes to dinner parties, cocktail parties, brunches, lunches, or barbecues — I have no idea how to do that well. How does one cook for large numbers of people with their individual dietary needs or preferences? How does one make sure all the food comes out at the same time? What’s a good appetizer anyway? It’s all terribly overwhelming and stress-inducing for me.
• How to not get sweaty, flustered, wrinkled, and cranky.
I really wish I had been there for the “How to Never Sweat Workshop” that so many other women appear to have attended and mastered. I, on the other hand, am always sweaty and my clothes wrinkled or crumpled. No matter how composed I am in the morning when I leave my house, by the time I get home, I look like I’ve been wrestling a pig on a dusty surface. Other women seem to sail through life without ever hitting any bumps, but I am not so lucky.
• How to make appropriately gooey noises and enthralled facial expressions whenever a baby is around.
I make an effort — I really do — to be interested in other people’s children and to admire them. But, I have to admit, I find it very difficult. Especially during the “bringing the baby to work for the first time” event, when there isn’t much required except that any passersby should coo and awwwhhhh over the baby, yes, even then, I have to make a conscious decision to put on my “your baby is adorable face” — and I don’t think it sits quite right. I should mention that I have no difficulty whatsoever with the “oh my god, your new puppy/kitten is so cute” face.
• How to make appropriately thrilled and excited noises and faces when people announce they are getting married or having children.
I suppose this follows from the previous point but it remains a challenge for me — and has gotten me into lots of trouble in the past. I know I am supposed to be overjoyed, to leap up and hug the couple, to congratulate them. They probably need a gift (see above). But, I can’t quite seem to get my behavior in line with the called-for excitement. There is a far-too-notable lag-time in my happy reaction, as I process the news — during which I time I am usually starting to mourn the end of my friendship with the soon-to-be married or parented couple, since I have seen so many friendships end over precisely this (and my reaction doesn’t help any, does it?).
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If I could re-enroll in Girl School, I might not take all the required curriculum — I would particularly skip “Subservience 101,” “Beauty: The Key to Happiness and Success,” and “Learning to Love High Heels Despite the Agony” — but I might benefit from learning some of the social graces that would allow me to function more smoothly and be a better friend to those women who did master the courses and who are now 100% Certified American Girls.
What about you? What did you not learn in Girl or Boy School — and is it a lesson you wish you could make up?
Scene: At the doctor’s office for routine check up. My doctor is female & has been treating me for several years.
Doctor (flipping through my chart): So, you are XX years old … [Let's say: somewhat shy of 40].
Me: Yes.
Doc: … and you are married …
Me: Actually, I’m not married, but I am in a long term relationship.
Doc (in a meaningful voice): … and you don’t have any children …
Me (seeing where this is going): No, and I don’t think I will.
Doc (surprised): What?
Me: Nope.
Doc (mouth agape, shedding all semblance of medical objectivity): Why not?
Me: Personal choice.
Doc (still in state of ridiculously extreme surprise): Personal choice?
Me: Right.
Doc (conspicuously attempting to regather herself, behave professionally): Oh, okay. I see.
Doc (trying to make up for reaction by swinging wildly in the opposite direction): So, we should talk about tubal ligation.
Me (mouth agape): What?
“Axiom 1: People are different from each other.
It is astonishing how few respectable conceptual tools we have for dealing with this self-evident fact. A tiny number of inconceivably coarse axes of categorization have been painstakeningly inscribed in current critical and political thought: gender, race, class, nationality, sexual orientation are pretty much the available distinctions. They, with the associated demonstrations of the mechanisms by which they are constructed and reproduced, are indispensable, and they many indeed override all or some other forms of difference and similarity. But the sister or brother, the best friend, the classmate, the parent, the child, the lover, the ex-: our families, loves, and enmities alike, not to mention the strange relations of our work, play, activism, prove that even people who share all or most of our own positionings along these crude axes may still be different enough from us, and from each other, to seem like all but different species.”
from Epistemology of the Closet (U California P, 1992), p. 22
Still brilliant, breathtaking, and urgent — after all of these years.
Sandra Day O’Connor says she’s not a feminist.
The following paragraph in one of my students’ papers, brought to you with all errors intact: “The role of women has come and long way lets not forget the feminist movement. Through self expression and being able to be who we want through this has allowed us to surpass the sexiest opinions of the past and this has brought us to a better understanding of equality among genders.” Sexiest opinions, folks.
Being told by one of my colleagues that he overheard a group of my students (perhaps including the author above) complaining about how I “ruin” literature by making them talk about feminist issues.
The large, silver metallic faux testicles dangling from the bumper of the truck I drove home behind — with a bumper sticker reading: Gotz Balz?***
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* The best part was the baby carrier visible in the back seat — because nothing says fine parenting like a pair of fake balls on the bumper!
** Trust me, if I had been able to snap a picture of the unbelievable sight of the fake balls, they would have been front and center on this blog.
Not for nothing does the title of this blog and my nom de plume emphasize the fact that life is full of conflicting experiences, emotions, and flavors. I wish I could say that they always result in balance — ying and yang, and all that. The past week has instead been more like Clash of the Titans (since I’m going with movie titles, apparently …)
The Good
This is the time of year when I conduct a financial audit of myself, comparing my January 09 finances to my January 08 finances. By “finances” I mean, of course “debt” — basically I force myself to look squarely at just how bad my debt is, an exercise in awareness that is intended to help me be responsible, thrifty, and goal-oriented (the goal being = debt free).
This time last year, my self-audit gave rise to a screed against academic debt. But, this year I have to say I was pleasantly surprised — amazed even. For the first time in more years than I care to count, I made positive financial progress. I neither gained debt nor made only small baby steps. I made HUGE progress — I paid off a HUGE amount of my debt!
How did I do it? I taught summer school, received a small stipend for attending professor summer camp, and put all the extra money to my debt. I did not take a vacation, nor buy anything luxurious, nor complete any major home improvements. So, it was an exhausting year with little tangible rewards … but in the big picture, I’m making progress.
The Bad
I have a class that is seriously under-enrolled. Actually, I’m not the only one — many of my colleagues are in the same boat, and I’ve seen other academic bloggers writing about the same phenomenon on their campuses. So, it would appear that the old chestnut that “bad financial times are good for universities” might have lost some of its accuracy. Anyway, here I am, four days before classes start and I still don’t know what I’m teaching next semester. The two professors in my department who control such scheduling issues are both male senior faculty who have been teaching at my U. for an eternity. Their attitude towards me all week — as I’ve been showing up in their offices, leaving frantic voice mails and emails — has been along the line of: “Whoa there, little lady! What’s all the fuss about? It’ll all work out just fine — don’t you worry your little head, now.” I’ve been trying to not overreact — either to the fact that I don’t know what I’m going to be teaching or to this patronizing attitude — but, um, hello, I would like to know what I’m teaching!! I do not deal well with doing things at the last minute or with the uncertainty that faces me next week. It will seriously give me an ulcer to have to show up to a newly assigned class without a syllabus, a reading list, or even an enrolled group of students. Good grief, I am going to be sweating all weekend …
The Ugly
My yearly self-audit coincides with the Bi-Annual Personal Appearance Crisis. As I wrote about before, the start of each new semester tends to throw me into an uncharacteristic state of anxiety about my looks and wardrobe. This year is particularly bad because I also recently viewed a bunch of holiday pictures and — say it with me, Oprah! — I’ve gotten so fat!! Oh dear, I hate to be like every other American woman, enveloped in self-hatred because I don’t meet an unreasonable beauty standard. I want to be a fierce feminist who takes pride in my mind, my spirit, my accomplishments, my relationships — all the things that really matter — and who embraces my appearance as a natural phenomenon, not something to be judged, evaluated or “fixed.” But, frankly, I feel like I suddenly look old — like sometime in the past year I got the body of a middle-aged woman. “Why would that be a bad thing?” one part of me says. “Because no one will love you,” the other part says. I know that’s a lie; Golden Boy assures me it is a lie (and I love him for it). But, it’s one incredibly powerful, culturally reinforced lie — very hard to resist. So, I am not going to “fix” myself but I am going to try to be healthy … if I can ever figure out how to separate the two.
Welcome to my roller coaster. And I didn’t even mention the fucking book …
As the Bittersweet Girl, I have been known to use this blog to make sweeping pronouncements. That’s one of the things I enjoy about blogging – you can make claims, generalizations, and suppositions without having to provide any supporting evidence, acknowledge counter-arguments, or give a damn what anyone else thinks.
One of my pronouncements is that COSMETICS ARE EVIL. A recent search term leading to my blog was “bitter sweet cosmetics evil,” so apparently I am known by at least one reader for this bold statement.
I thought that, maybe just this once, I would make an attempt to support my argument, if not with actual evidence, than a more elaborate statement of my opinion.
Let’s review the case against cosmetics.
The accused, “the cosmetics industry,” encompasses all varieties of makeup, including lotions, creams, soaps, shampoos, conditioners, hair styling products, and every other unguent we are encouraged to spread on our bodies in the interest of preserving our youth, achieving our optimal health, and looking “beautiful.” And, yes, it includes hair dye, one of the worst offenders.
The sins of cosmetics industry are the following:
1. The use of natural and artificial resources that could more properly be used for socially necessary or beneficial ends. This includes the energy resources that cosmetics companies use to produce, package, and ship their products, as well as to create in laboratories the various hyphenated chemical compounds that constitute most cosmetics. Also, the plastics and other materials that go into the packaging, most of which are not recyclable.
2. The inclusion of many chemicals that are harmful to the health and well being of cosmetics users, and to the environment overall. Since the FDA is a weak federal regulatory organization and deep in the pockets of corporate America, the cosmetics industry continues to use chemicals that are dangerous to our health, including parabens and phthalates. Not only do these chemicals threaten to harm individuals’ health when they repeatedly spread cosmetics on their skin, but they also threaten to further damage the environment when such products are washed into the water system (as when your hairdresser washes your hair dye down the drain) or are deposited in landfills (after you throw that half-empty bottle of nail polish in the garbage).
3. The use of animal testing. While it is necessary for cosmetics industry to verify that the latest brand of fashionable eye liner won’t cause a suburban housewife to break out in hives, it is insupportable that the means of doing so is the confinement, suffering, and death of animals.
4. The complicity of the cosmetics industry with the fashion and beauty industries overall in promoting the idea that women should be judged primarily by their appearance rather than their intellect, character, or abilities. Moreover, fostering the idea that women should be dissatisfied with they way they appear naturally – and must rely upon external applications or adornments to look “better” or even to look “right.” I hardly need to review the feminist condemnation of the beauty industry for the ways it has entrenched the idea that there is a single standard for beauty, or the consequences for women’s self-esteem – do I?
To elaborate:
I simply don’t see how anyone can argue against the first point. Could anyone rationally claim that the energy, materials, and technological resources that are employed by the multi-million-dollar-a-year cosmetics industry are better spent making eye shadow and anti-wrinkle creams than in feeding the hungry or improving the environment?
But, it’s not just the cosmetics industry that has its balance sheet out of whack. Every time that we spend our money on makeup, we perpetuate a culture of consumption that places the individual superficiality over substance – and affirm that we’d rather make ourselves look nice than to use our individual resources to do something meaningful like, say, give to a charity, or buy slightly more expensive organic produce or grass-fed free-range beef, or even to save our money and stay out of debt!
Sure, it is true that not every kind of cosmetics employs dangerous chemical components. It has become popular lately for cosmetics to trumpet themselves as “all natural,” “100% organic,” etc. We all know that most of these claims are unregulated by the FDA and essentially meaningless. However, there are cosmetics companies that are known for being more environmentally and health conscious than others.
Treehugger recommends Avalon Organics, Dr. Bronners, and The Organic Pharmacy, among a host of others. I used to be a big fan of Bert’s Bees until I learned it was owned by Clorox and I have had serious skin reactions to Aveda products – so I have a hard time endorsing either of those eco-organo-cosmetic powerhouses. But, the point is, that careful shoppers can identify cosmetics that don’t sin in their contents.
There are also companies that refuse to use animal testing. PETA’s Caring Consumer site provides a list of anti-animal testing cosmetics companies. If you join PETA you’ll get a wallet-sized card identifying animal-friendly companies for convenient reference. There is also a handy “leaping bunny” logo identifying the companies that comply with the Humane Cosmetics Standard that you can find on the products themselves.
Again, however, it depends upon the consumer to shop carefully and responsibly to regulate the cosmetics industry – to regulate with your dollars where they won’t regulate themselves – and that takes time and effort that many aren’t willing to sacrifice. The search for the Holy Grail of cosmetics that unites all the good characteristics – organic, chemical-free, non-animal-tested, minimally packaged in recyclable materials, and still effective – is a challenging one, not to mention that that such products tend to cost far more. In a million little ways, corporate America conspires to make it easier for us to just buy what’s at hand and to willfully ignore the consequences.
I know that many will argue that wearing makeup, using hairspray, painting ones toenails, getting highlights, spending money on anti-wrinkle medications and treatments, and so forth does not necessarily mean that a woman is demeaned. “Fun feminists” would say that they do it for themselves, that it makes them feel better about themselves – more empowered, more in control, more secure. I find this argument specious to the extreme. The whole “I’m doing it for myself” claim assumes that you live in a vacuum or never leave your house – that you’ve somehow magically slipped the bonds of patriarchy.
In a recent screed against burlesque sexuality, the brilliant Twisty Faster condensed the problems with the “I do it for myself” argument: Quote: “The idea that women’s public sexuality can so precisely mirror traditional male fantasy while simultaneously existing in a kind of pro-woman, I-do-it-for-myself alternate universe is the cornerstone of funfeminist ‘thought.’ The flaw in this reasoning is that all women must participate in patriarchy regardless of what they say motivates their participation; patriarchy is the dominant culture, and there is no opting out. Which means there is no opting in, either. Do it for me, do it for you, whatever; the primary beneficiaries of women’s participation — willing or unwilling, ironic or sincere — in patriarchy, are men.”
To paraphrase Twisty: The idea that you can wear makeup or style your hair in a way that meets dominant ideals of women’s beauty but somehow simultaneously escape from the patriarchal constructs of the beauty industry is, well, a nice fantasy, but that’s about it.
I wish I could say that I have successfully escaped the grip of the evil cosmetics industry but, of course, I still use many cosmetic products. In my efforts to become a more ethical and environmental consumer, I have come to the conclusion that the easiest answer for me to the cosmetics conundrum is to eliminate all unnecessary products. What I have concluded as unnecessary (for me) includes makeup, hair dye, nail polish, etc. These items seem to be designed purely to make me fit into some externally and artificially derived concept of “beauty.” But, I still consider necessary items like shampoo/condition, hair gel, lotion, etc. that seem (to me) to be more about cleanliness or neatness than about being “beautiful.” It’s a daily struggle but I am working on redefining beauty for myself as centered around spirit, good works, love, and compassion – and not physical appearance.
While I am discussing consumer products that are marketed to and used almost exclusively (or, in this case, entirely) by women, that present health hazards to their users, as well as environmental hazards through their disposability, I think it’s fair to say that FEMININE HYGIENE PRODUCTS ARE EVIL. May I delicately point you in the direction of the Diva Cup?
Want to know more? TreeHugger has an amazing resource page on How to Green Your Personal Care.
I didn’t think I could be more outraged by the RNC than I have been ever since they unveiled their VP choice and began trumpeting her biography, with the centerpiece that she nobly, heroically, and ethically elected to not abort her Down Syndrome child. New Kid has already written with eloquent fury about the offensive nature of this whole story.
But now … with the seventeen-year-old daughter’s pregnancy and the inflated rhetoric about her noble, heroic, and ethical choice to marry her impregnater and not abort the fetus … I just can’t take it! I’m so angry I can’t see straight.
Can we please stop congratuating the women of the Palin family for not having abortions?
… we’re not married.”
This is a phrase that I’ve said a lot lately. Although Golden Boy and I have been together for many years, we’re not married and I seem to be constantly correcting people who assume that we are. I guess we seem married. We’re not that young any more so we don’t fit into the youthful “just living together” time frame. We bought a house and, ever since, I think we’ve developed that complacent sheen that goes along with suburban living and that appears to reek of marriage. We’re straight, so we could and, in some people’s view, should be married. We don’t have any external markers of alternative-ness: no tattoos, nose rings, purple hair to indicate that we’re rebellious. Yeah, we seem like a nice old married couple.
But, we’re not — and not being married is a deliberate, conscious decision on our part.** We don’t want to be married for many reasons, primarily having to do with a rejection of social norms: heteronormativity, female subordination, conventional religion, and the absurd psycho-drama that is the modern wedding. We have elected to remove ourselves from those conventions, at least as much as we can.
The funny (or annoying … or perhaps inevitable) thing is how much other people want to put us right back in there.
It’s not that big of a deal when the checker at the grocery store calls me GB’s wife, but it takes on more significance in other contexts. Many of my colleagues refer to GB as my husband — so many and so often that, frankly, I’ve given up correcting them because it’s tiresome to keep repeating myself. But, then I feel guilty, like I’ve slipped into conventionality rather than sticking by my guns.
It doesn’t help that there are no good terms for describing an unmarried straight couple. I call GB my partner but that often necessitates further explanations that we’re not a queer couple. I don’t mind being mistaken for a lesbian but, once again, I feel like I’m getting credit for being what I’m not. Given the incredible adaptability of the English language, it’s amazing that a new term hasn’t developed to fill this gap.
And, of course, the phrase “Actually, we’re not married” often has to be followed up by some lame caveat along the lines of “But, we don’t have anything against marriage! We’ve got lots of married friends!” to placate the hurt feelings of the married set. It’s amazing how many people are offended by our unmarried-ness — I’ve lost several friendships over it, but that’s another story. And don’t even get me started on our families.
The fact is, we do have something against the institution of marriage! The Dyke Action Machine coined the great, provocative line: “Gay marriage. You might was well be straight.” I’ve always thought there should be a hetero-version too: “Straight marriage. You might was well be … well, straight and married.” ****
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** We live in a state with extremely liberal common-law marriage rules, so we’ve taken legal steps to guarantee that we won’t be inadvertently married by the state.
**** I’m not saying I’m against gay marriage, okay? Put away all those poison pens. I am absolutely in favor of the right of gay marriage and will vote for it if I ever have a chance. I just don’t agree with the idea that heterosexual marriage should be the desired model for any kind of relationship.
