I initially wrote this post several months ago, but it seemed… well, a bit bitchy. Not to mention politically incorrect. So I never published it. But Katie’s response to Monday’s post about the power of persuasion got me thinking…
Granted, I don’t want to think right now. Date #7 will be on his way to Philadelphia in less than 48 hours and if I start thinking, I might do something drastic… I might start listening to my gut and then what would become of my long awaited weekend romance?
At any rate, here goes…
It drives me crazy when I see girls let guys treat them like crap. It drives me even crazier when I see gorgeous girls let guys treat them like crap.
This isn’t because I think these so-called “gorgeous girls” deserve better than those society would deem less-gorgeous, but rather because they’re in the position to demand better and actually get it. The way I see it, a victory for one is a victory for all and it’s up to the girls who can easily turn a few heads to raise the bar— because if they can’t do it, how’s a girl who’s overweight or suffering from low self esteem gonna find the strength to do so?
Somebody’s got to take the first stand and it might as well be someone with a steady stream of admirers.
I’m sure this seems like another of my crazy theories (and yes, I’m well-aware that I’ve just about teetered over the edge of what’s PC and what’s not) but hear me out:
By virtue of being a dancer, I have some very pretty friends. I’m talking about the sort of women who can make a pair of ratty old jeans look like haute couture, the sort of women who never have to buy their own drinks, who regularly get chatted up in the freakin’ produce aisle and who—quite frankly—drive the rest of us crazy.
Now before you get all excited about my introducing a female version of “My Single Male Friend” here at After I Quit My Day Job, I’m not— that would be just creepy—but I am going to take a moment to talk about one such girlfriend.
She’s actually the amalgamation of several friends of mine (remember, I’ve been dancing since I was five); we’ll call her “Z.” Z has no idea how pretty she is—if she did, there is no way she would have put up with… let’s call him “X”… for as long as she has.
Her friends keep telling her to dump his sorry *ss—for real this time—and it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that his phone calls are almost exclusively of the “booty” variety.
If she can’t stand up for herself and give him the boot, how are her students going to know any better? How are the young women who envy and admire her going to learn to they too can (and quite frankly should) ask for more?
I know it’s not fair to blame all the problems of the world on girls like Z but let’s face it: being pretty is generally seen as an advantage in life and yet with great beauty (ie. power) comes great responsibility. At the risk of offending and alienating my entire readership, I’d go so far as to say that pretty girls— by virtue of their “physical capital” and head-turning prowess— owe it to the rest of their sex to set the example.
And no, for once I’m not actually talking about myself.
(Although in light of Katie’s comment on Monday, it occurs to me that I could be… and probably should be.)
On that note, I’m going to dismount from my soapbox and prepare for an onslaught of rotten fruit (coupled, most likely, with a bunch of exasperated text messages from Date #7). But seriously—this is the same reason that the US ought to be taking the lead in alternative energy and the move towards a green economy. We can’t expect the developing world to make the first move, which brings me back to my previous point: with great power comes great responsibility. And its high time that those in positions of power realized it.