To Come Is A Verb Intransitive
What, was yesterday April Fool's Day again?
I'm sure I'm not the only girl who enjoyed playing this imaginary game [dressing up like a bride - ed.]. Unfortunately no one ever warned me that reaching my childhood fantasy was much easier said than done.
Let's take this one slowly. In the Huffington Post, where one assumes grownups may be talking, this young woman complained that childhood fantasies didn't come with warning labels. Maybe we should sew them into pretty-pretty princess costumes: Warning. Actual magic wand, singing mice, happily ever after not included.
My cousins who gathered around me then are now happily married, most with children and still living in Iran. On the other hand I have become a "therapist" and shoulder to cry on for every girl I know who can't find Mr. Right or even land a date with Mr. Maybe. Some of these women are intelligent, beautiful and successful but spend half their time on dating website getting matched up with people with whom they have to force themselves to have "chemistry".
Translation: I hate my friends. They are my social inferiors, but since they are less attractive than I am, I feign interest in their problems.
Others are at clubs and bars competing with tons of girls who are dressed in provocative outfits (read: slutty) in order to attract men's attention.
Yes. We can all read slutty.
The last time I walked into a club with all my single girlfriends it occurred to me that I had just entered into a casting room and I was about to audition for some sort of sexy horror movie.
Well, duh. Who hasn't walked into a club with all her single girlfriends looking their flaming red-hottest only to find that guy with the chainsaw on the dance floor isn't going to take Piss off, doofus for an answer? Sweetie, that's a Saturday night in the Meat Packing District.
Not only was[sic] every girl's breast implants barely covered by their tops but their short skirts made me want to take off my skinny jeans because I seemed too conservative and felt the pressure to fit in.
Yes. Please take off your skinny jeans - for modesty!
At that moment I started to reminisce about the years I lived in Iran and how I witnessed so many of my relatives finding love in a level that is completely foreign to what we are familiar with in our society.
Amazing! I'm reminiscing about a time before I became acquainted with this wretched column.
A woman doesn't have to go hunt for a man or stress about the possibility of never getting married; instead she finds love and courtship in the most relaxed, respectful way possible.
Not to put to fine a point on it, but Pegah Patra can kiss my fabulous ass - not a little bit of it, but in fact my entire ass. See:
Could this be the fault of women who for years were fighting for feminism and wanting to be free and equal to men? Of course we believe in equal rights and a woman's independence but maybe the concept of feminism has also taken us to the extreme level of sexual freedom. By making sex so available and accessible for men it allows them to lose respect and not value courtship the way they did years ago in western cultures or as they still do in many parts of the world.
Listen, some folks think sex is something you let someone do to you - as opposed to something awesome you do with someone you like, love or just met in the hot, sweaty elevator on the way up here. Those people also think women in short skirts are asking to get raped. They don't like, trust or value women, certainly not women who have an afternoon free and think, What the hell, that person of my preferred gender smells great. I could have some sex. If you've never done that, by the way, it is awesome.
Feminism doesn't solve women's problems. It is the outlandish notion that women are people just like men, and may even want some of the same things men want. No one studies feminist theory to find a husband. It's not the fault of feminism either when women like Patra act as enforcers for the Patriarchy. Here she offers one more kick to the ribs.
To be clear, I love my independence, freedom and the power I have as a woman in this country which I am sure most other woman do as well, but we must admit that sometimes we all have the fantasy of old fashion respect along with the guarantee of one day having a house, husband and children. But it seems that the fantasy of courtships like the scene in The Godfather where Michael meets the virgin Appolonia in Sicily and conveys ultimate respect to her and her family is now passé.
Thank your lucky stars it is, sister, or you and your slutty girlfriends would have every reason to be nervous whenever a man picked up a rock.
Or to use another movie term, Gone With The Wind.
And for many women, that is nothing to celebrate.
Actually, there is. If Patra's friends back home are happy, good for them. If Patra's happy living with her cognitive dissonance, good for her. If Patra's friends are unhappy, let us hope they find ways to make themselves happy. I'm happy, quoting Gilmore Girls:
Miss Patty: It's times like these that you realize what is truly important in your life. I'm so glad I had all that sex.
Except it's not really about sex, is it? The column in which Patra claims to know the secret to women's happiness comes off as sad; happiness is ultimately unavailable, she says. Women in America cannot have it as long as they're slutty-slut-sluts, but if they stopped all that sluttiness, regained their virginity and moved to Iran, men would be respectful. I suppose that's a plan, but it's about as likely to succeed as the one with the singing mice.
Crossposted at Brilliant @ Breakfast.