Peeves

No matter where I go, people don’t seem to understand my way of thinking.

But then, I don’t understand theirs, either.

I’ve long dreaded going to all-female things, like baby showers, wedding showers, or even the Ladies’ room at a party because of the conversations they will inevitably lead to.

It seems that whenever more than two or three females are gathered together, conversations often tend to begin with, “Men are such…” and you can add your own derogatory word – babies, pigs, etc. It seems to be an all or nothing put-down of the male of the species.

I feel a need, in those situations, to come to the defense of the men, since they’re not there to defend themselves. I don’t like generalizations about any group of people.

“I’m sorry, but I refuse to accept that generalization from anyone who propagates the myth of PMS,” I have said in many of these situations.

I am met with glares and evil looks, even when the people I’m with have no idea what half of those words mean. They know a put-down when they hear one, and I am suddenly the enemy.

I once worked in an all-female department of occupational therapists. You would think that highly-educated people would have a modicum of propriety.

 But no. 

In addition to the “men are such” sentences, they seemed to have some primordial need to announce their periods and other no-one-needs-to-know-that subjects.

A woman entering the room with a package of salted peanuts and a candy bar  -- or simply a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup – feels compelled to say that she needs this because she is “PMSing.” 

Really! 

Couldn’t you just let us assume you’re feeling a bit peckish and leave it at that?

While it may be fine to tell your significant other, your mother or your best friend – in private – about your bodily functions, it is, in my humble opinion, highly inappropriate to discuss these things in public. Particularly at work. The exception would be if there was some sort of emergency related to it.

I know in my 43 years of being cursed with such a waste of my time, only twice did I ever discuss what was going on  with my body,  and both were emergency situations – and highly humiliating. I certainly don’t want to hear about someone else’s bodily functions.

One colleague in particular, used to relish the discussion. If I were in the room, I would cut her off with, “Do you come out of the bathroom and discuss whether you went  #1 or #2 as well?” (I only put it in such babyish terms because that’s the way my “highly educated” colleagues preferred to talk.)

She seemed offended. It never occurred to her that her discussion offended me.

For a while, we had a male OT in our department. During his year or so working with us, all of these inappropriate conversations ceased. It was a relief.

Unfortunately, once he left, they resumed. 

I also don’t need to know about your hot flashes, your incontinence or a litany of your medications. If your baby was not conceived the old-fashioned way, I don’t need to know. TMI, folks, TMI.

Of course, work isn't the only place people feel the need to discuss bodily functions.

There are baby showers. 

Is that supposed to be some rite of passage, to make the poor pregnant woman suffer? I can’t imagine that someone who’s eight or nine months pregnant is comfortable in the first place. I think she’s well aware of the labor to come.

But at every shower I’ve attended, there are multitudes of women anxious to share, in gory detail, the massive extent of their morning sickness, how many hours of labor they endured with each child, and how inept their husband was in the delivery room – or the myriad reasons they wouldn’t have wanted their husband there, if they were of an older generation.

Even decades after giving birth, these women can recount every gory detail. It makes me wonder how they could possibly love a child who caused them such unforgettable distress.

“Oh, you forget after they put that sweet baby in your arms,” they say. 

But they apparently didn’t.

Of course, now you’re saying to yourself, “You know, men say things about women, too.”

Yes, I know. Women are cows, nags and bitches – and worse. 

I find that just as reprehensible. I tend to take it personally.

Ok, yes, I can agree that at times I have been a bitch. 

It’s being called a nag that offends me.

I do not nag people. I’ll say something once. If the other person doesn’t respond, my assumption is that it’s their failure. They don’t respect me. They aren’t willing to be helpful, or in some instances, do their part.

Point taken.

And when the point is taken, don’t expect me to volunteer to be in any way helpful to that person ever again, or to be part of a group that they’re in. Trust and respect are earned.

Maybe it’s cold, but you can’t accuse me of nagging. Don’t lump me in with those women at the baby showers. I will only remind someone of something they were supposed to do if they ask me to.

If you don’t believe me, just ask my husband.

P.S. When my husband proof read the blog, he noted that the last sentence is true!