As a member of the world’s most privileged demographic, that is, White Western Upper Middle Class Women, there is sort of a visible “Matriarchy” of players, who upon meeting me, presume that I come offering affirmations of popular Leftist Rhetoric, to include obedience to thought crime prevention, and of course, medical diktats.
When it turns out that not only am I not wealthy at all anymore but even though clearly well-educated, informed, and articulate, but not on board with the affirmations and obedience, then the first order of business would appear to be protect the men from this woman. That would be me.
Of course, the notion that I actually wish to steal any of these pussy-whipped men who check their balls in and out of their wives’ purses each day “for their own good” is its own idiocy. I just like hanging out, smoking cigars, and remembering the good old days when men were men, and otherwise not rigorously obedient to whatever their wives learned on television, in magazines and advertising circulars, at their ladies’ clubs, and in the doctor’s office.
I also won’t stand for male-bashing, husband-bashing, son-bashing, or any other “good-natured” or outright batshit “chiding,” complaining, whining, and castrating language. These are adult men not children that these women are talking about! This is not to say I would trust these women around male children.
Everyone wants to inspire me to be an “independent” go-getter and otherwise bust some balls, etc., in order to survive. Why? What do I win? The admiration of these women? Why would I want that?
Other women expect me to help them feel better about the world. I don’t even know what could possibly be a safe subject. It is pathetic when it turns out that the safest subject is my victimization in Venezuela, which of course is a topic well out of bounds of their life experiences, and is traumatizing to me to even talk about, but, at least I don’t appear to be “wonder woman” or otherwise “empowered” when I recount these horrible things. If I am traumatized and even well up with tears then it becomes obvious that I haven’t arrived within these womens’ lives for purposes of being an affirmation-repeater or someone from whom they can extract energy for whatever “cause” they may have in mind.
For example, I’m not going to be their proxy in terms of lecturing their husbands. I’m not going to go take on city hall such as to make their communities better given all the “great advice” they have given me in which to do so. I’m not going to come over to their homes and give them computer and internet lessons for the benefit of a glass of iced tea or something. I’ve got nothing that they want.
Therefore, after they get tired of inviting me to social events where I don’t attend, and otherwise forget about me, they won’t notice that their missing husbands smell like cigars after they come to visit me. We just sit and talk. I try to reassure them that they are good guys. This job pays me nothing. I don’t even get sex out of it. It’s about the stupidest job that there is, but, at least it feels good for me to do it. At least until I get tarred and feathered and otherwise run out of town by these harpies.