Excuse me, dahrlings, but...

Name Calling Does Hurt

I don’t know about you, dahrlings, but I’ve been called a thing or two, in my day. Three or four, truth be told. 

In case you’ve missed a bit of a brouhaha in the travel trade media, of late, you haven’t missed much. But what I will say is that I always find it rather pitiful when a man calls a woman a female dog, body part or effin’ body part – just because he thinks he can. And no one will call him out for it because he’s just being a dude. Well, I’m calling. (Maybe I should text – but I can’t see the stupid little letters on my phone.)

And I find it even more pathetic when other women defend that behaviour – particularly yesterday, of all days.

On International Women’s Day, women all over the planet are fighting to be seen as more than a man vessel. For equal pay. For health care. For the right to travel without a man’s approval. For the right to stay alive after a male relative’s rape.

Now don’t get me wrong. I have long enjoyed channeling men along my vesselness now and again - but it’s been my choice. Doesn’t have to be my place, but I insist on bringing my own toys, so fair warning.

Anyhooo, you may say name calling and abuse are not on the same footing. True, but they are on the same slippery slope of female abasement. A way to keep women in line.

A female boss exercising authority which would be deemed assertive in a male can quite readily be put in her place by being treated as a bitch.

It’s the stuff of bully pulpits, dahrlings, and says more about the caller than the callee. Just sayin’.

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