A man’s right to bitch seems to be written in white ink right under the statute that sanctioned the sexist holiday. Yes, I am referring to those genderised 24 hours of Women’s Day, which appears to be the offspring of flatulent political correctness and stale statutory compromise.
Don’t get me wrong — I am not one of those people who repeatedly hog the airwaves to begrudgingly point out that if men and women are the same, then there should be no basis for Women’s Day. Nor do I wish to see Women’s Day chalked off the country’s calendar, because it is ”insignificant” and a drain on our ”man hours”.
Actually, I agree with and support the principle of raising women’s profiles by saluting and celebrating ”the second sex” with Women’s Day (or month) and a ”take a girl-child to work” day. And I know that, despite the shifting sands and cracks in the glass ceiling in the workplace, this is still essentially ”a man’s world” as the audacious James Brown belted out.
My attitude is mainly couched by the fact that I am my mother’s son rather than my father’s boy. And when you have gone through 12 years of co-educational schools, and the person who was always in pole position every quarter, every semester and every year was invariably a girl, you develop a certain respect for the other sex.
However, when I had the freakish experience and misfortune of being twice beaten by a girl in a chess tournament, I became the butt of many jokes to my mates who could not imagine losing to a girl. Just last weekend I saw the same girl and the old feelings of shame, inadequacy and the jeering humiliation rocked me again.
Imagine if a fast-bowler in the mould of Shaun Pollock or Makhaya Ntini were to be slammed over the boundary for a six by a woman. Imagine if Michael Schumacher were to be overtaken by a woman.
If such a fluke ever happened, God forbid, I don’t think we would see such self-respecting sportsmen gracing their respective sports again.
My point is that until women can match their well-established academic and professional achievements with some sporting prowess — where they can compete with and beat men, instead of being patronisingly protected by competing in woman-only contests — they are stuck.
My gripe with Women’s Day is that it doesn’t have the same archaic or absurd rituals associated with, say, Christmas, New Year, Valentine’s and Mother’s Days.
In fact, I used to think that Mother’s Day and Women’s Day were essentially the same with the slight difference being that one placed emphasis on the maternal/ domestic front while the other placed more weight on the working environment, respectively. And there seems to be no consensus among women on how to celebrate Women’s Day.
Most women view August 9 as merely a day off from work and a chance to indulge in those oestrogen-inspired excesses of shopping, manicures and spa baths, while some commemorate the day at political rallies and celebrate their achievements at awards functions. Some broadcasters give their female presenters the day off, while others make women do jobs (such as sports presenting) that are usually reserved for men.
Anyway, since the manufacturers of greeting cards haven’t had the foresight to write some soppy verse for this occasion, men who need to validate woman-power can take their cue from the metrosexual David Beckham. The England football captain is renowned the world over not only for his almost-inimitable ability to curve, nay, bend it over goalkeepers heads (and over the crossbar!), but also for being a gender deconstructionist of note.
He wears girls’ headbands during soccer games and has been reported to like wearing his wife’s knickers without compunction. Hence I recommend that men wear panties and bras under their pinstriped, power suits during the month of August.
The best way for men to assert woman-power in a glorious way is by practising that mantra of Kool and the Gang to Get Down on It. Quite frankly what can be more commendable and a more clear sign of a change of heart than to engage in that biblical position?
Instead of using hands to pummel women like drums, and tongues to spew invectives such as ”bitch” and ”whore”, why not use them to give pleasure?
The wonder of the age is that how we relate to each other is still very much dictated and influenced by our attitudes towards what we do behind closed doors and in our beds.