No funny business today. So don’t expect a laugh. I am mad.
By all means, call me a feminist. I am all about women. Their education, their empowerment, their rights. The whole nine yards. If it were up to me, I would have volunteered during the Women’s Liberation Movement in the 60s and 70s. The only snag is that I wasn’t born by then. Then I was, but got raised African. I had bigger fish to fry. Stereotypes and all. But it would have been great. Marching down the streets handing out cassettes of Chaka Khan’s ‘I am Every Woman‘ to the girls of the world (in hindsight, that wouldn’t have been the best idea). Chanting liberation slogans with my fist in the air like the guy from the original Breakfast Club Movie. Listening to Bob Marley’s Redemption Song. Everything to get me all riled up. Viva la Revolucion! It would have been my life. For the future of my daughters.
But with all that gory and glory, I would still be a typical guy. Having typical expectations as any other Tom, Dick and Harry out there. Some things women should just know how to do. Cooking for example. Not that it’s their job but really, but if you can’t cook it, you shouldn’t eat it. As simple as that. I can’t cook most things. But when it comes to salads and sandwiches, it’s gourmet all the way. That’s why I am a vegetarian. See, no double standards. And if you just can’t cook because you are an alien for that matter, at least know how to use a microwave. Nobody likes medium rare . We love it well done.
Get your act together ladies! Don’t be basic. How did we get from Marie Curie to Mariah Carey? From real stars to reality stars? Seems every woman has been empowered by their massive following on their Snapchat and Instagram accounts. Having grandiose ideas of getting hitched to hyper rich personalities who came out of the works looking as chiselled as William Levi. Hate to burst your bubble but that will never happen. Your future husband is probably an uninteresting slob, busy skipping his grind so that he would double tap on your raunchy pictures. He will DM you, promise you the world, get you pregnant, skip town and ruin your life. You will get puffed up and deactivate your social media; Or you will end up catfishing other guys through fake accounts. All guys are the same – that will be your motto as you down a tub of fried wings. You will end up mad and insecure. And your child will grow up like this, hating men or undervaluing women. It is not their fault. You didn’t give them the best example.
A little advice to all women out there.
Don’t froth because of the broth. Cooking isn’t slavery. Don’t think that because you cook, your rights don’t exist. Eating is for strength and therefore cooking is power. The greatest decisions that affect our world are made in the dining chambers. Power is brokered over bread, peace is forged over fondue. So, who runs the world, girls.
Love makes the world go round. Don’t be suspicious of your fellow womankind. Vote Hillary – too soon. Do not hold grudges. If you were to fight, wipe the floor with each others’ faces. Give each other black eyes then finally hug it out. Better be blind friends than seeing enemies in the end. And for your information, CSI doesn’t mean Chic Stalking Investigation. So when you see someone talking to your boyfriend, do not go all out looking for fingerprints and making charts complete with call logs. Just ask. If he’s cheating, go for the guy, not the girl. She is probably a victim just as you. But don’t implicate me. I am a pacifist.
Your brand, your business. Do a SWOT Analysis on yourself. Know your strengths. Learn a skill and improve your portfolio. Don’t just go to class, study. Acknowledge your weaknesses. You aren’t Wonder Woman. You don’t own the Lasso of Truth. You aren’t Tolkien’s Golem. So put that phone down – it isn’t Precious. Check for opportunities to improve yourself. Scale that ladder, break the glass ceiling. And never give time to toxic people and ideas. Time is money and they aren’t worth your two cents – unless you are one of them.
You are human first. Be yourself. Be a person – not a product. Your skin is of the motherland. Your name, Targaryen; your hair is Brazilian, your lashes, Indian; your contacts, Cambodian; your nails, Amphibian; your ego – Nigerian. And your butt says that it was made in California. My sister, were you born or assembled? Be true to yourself.
Keep growing to stay young. Develop a mature mindset. Know that what you see is never really what you get. Be critical in your own evaluation. Be better than you were yesterday. Shed off any dead weight holding you back. Baggage. But do all this with a smile. Happiness keeps you glowing. Botox is for sad people.
Stop shopping in the kids’ section. Return your little sister’s dress. Clothe yourself like an adult. That is how you get some respect. And anyway, a maxi dress never hurt anybody.
Now feel empowered.
PS. I have nothing against Mariah. Except she fired Cannon. Pun intended.