Superwoman

My homegirl O-Dubs (Oprah Winfrey) occasionally drops some home truths that I can’t forget.  To paraphrase one particular segment – women need to let men open the pickle jar.  When I first heard this, I mouthed “Eff you” slowly while giving my flat screen the side eye.  I was also scared for my life because Oprah knows/sees all and my disrespectful actions would not go unnoticed.  She knew I had a lesson to learn which is why I think I was spared.  *single blink*

Opening pickle jars is what made me the woman I am today. Why the hell would I let someone else do it for me?  Then it hit me like Robin Givens on a bad day in the 80s:  my severe reaction to such a simple statement shows why I’m called “intimidating” ALWAYS.  Gender roles are no longer defined as they were back when Laura Ingalls was doing her damn thing by the Mercantile.

We’re perfectly capable of de-lidding jar upon jar of pickles all of the time, forever. But damn it (hate me if you must), sometimes you just have to let a man be the man. It feels good, it truly does. I’ll be the first to admit I struggle with this; I actually go into cardiac arrest if I’m not able to pay for my own drink. But I’m learning and growing and increasing my drinking nights out to practice.

So here’s a little note to my future beau – I’m dead hungry for pickles on the daily.  Y’heard? They are juicy, crunchy objects of deliciousness and I cannot wait to indulge while you decide when you’ll be entering my life.  I promise to have a new jar the day you make yourself known and when you inevitably can’t open it – I’ll be there to help you… With my rubber dishwashing gloves…  ‘Cuz that’s how I do.  (I’m a work in progress)

Please press play (I FORGOT THIS SONG EXISTED!!!):