This is an essay to review the things that have bothered me for a while. It seems men have no trouble coming out with unsolicited advice to women, sometimes friendly, sometimes disguised attempts to control them.
Annoying men, who annoy me
Recently I was asked a very personal question about the end of life. I was not really a question but a statement put forth as a bet as to what I would be thinking about on my deathbed.
But let us back track a bit.
When I was married to a man who annoyed me, it was by telling me that if I just improved my handwriting I would be perfect. I was at a loss to think how something that I was born with and could not really change with any amount of practice would so please him that I would be “perfect”.
That was not my job. It was to run the household and get four children raised to benefit themselves and society.
When push came to shove, I wanted out, and had a chance to buy for cash a small travel trailer to live in while my life was in transition from bondage of a marriage to freedom as a single mother.
My brother was asked to lend his pickup to haul this small trailer to a desert airport where the rent was cheap. Instead of saying “Sure Sis, I am happy to help you” he waffled and tried to get me to shop around for a better deal. I knew from instinct and experience that there would not be a better deal, but he just had to make some controlling move.
Annoying but not insurmountable.
Move on to the last few years when I was having coffee with an old teacher, and was taken to task on how I stirred my cup of joe. I usually try not to make noise, so stir with the spoon barely dipped and dissolve the dry creamer into the brew. This man must have thought that I had not spent the last 50 years drinking coffee, as he proceeded to show me how!
Am I that gullible? Do I put my sox and shoes on like Meathead in that old television show and incur the wrath of Archie Bunker?
Is there a proper way to put on the sox and shoes? Or stir my coffee? What is there about me and my attitude that makes these men try to instruct me in the very basics? Are they trying to get my attention? Do they really think that I need instruction in anything?
Since 1975 I have been working for a living, changing tires and oil filters on my own car, painting houses, delivering papers, paying the bills, and getting my son through teen hood and on to full-fledged successful adulthood.
So now I guess I am to be considered too old to make any decisions about real estate or money matters.
This son wants me to sell my property and spend the money on having fun. What he does not understand is that I have more fun not spending money.
Now we come to the matter that set off this train of thought and this blog.
A new friend and I got discussing religion and the end of life. I was raised Catholic, but lost whatever faith I had when I was about 16. After I got married we both gave up pretending that it was a fine thing to attend any kind of church and kept our tithing to ourselves.
I can’t even remember when I attended church for inspiration, but only to attend a concert or related function out of curiosity. I have never believed that any of the mumbo jumbo was true, or had any affect whatsoever on my happiness or wellbeing.
Then this fellow comes up with the statement that “I bet that on your deathbed you will call for a priest””
WTF? Me, who curses them all for being perverts and money grubbers? I would not even know who to call, and all my DNR health papers say that I am an atheist or something like that so it would be wrong for any nurse to sneak any dress- wearing witchdoctors into my hospice room.
No, I can tell my friend right now, all that I will be calling for on my deathbed will be for some more of those nice drugs derived from the beautiful poppy flower.
And after it all fades to black, I may or may not come back to haunt annoying men.
Well, maybe only one will be still around, as all the really annoying ones have died already, or are on the lip of the precipice.
As to whether or not they called for a priest, I can say that did not happen, as one was an agnostic, the one practicing Catholic was surprised in his recliner with the grim reaper, and the few that are on the brink never went to any church. Slim pickings for the padres.