Friday 22 July 2011

Saturday 23rd July 3.09am

Feminisation.

I don't think it's a word. But it should be. Feminisation. You know that moment where a man you work with calls you 'Honey' or 'Darling'? You think it's all well and good until you think about it properly, and you think, 'hold on, you didn't call HIM darling, or her honey'....why do I deserve a pet name and they don't? Why is it, because of my feminine assets, I have to be simmered down with a 'honey' or a 'darling'? Why don't you just ask me to join you in the other room like the rest of the 'guys'?

Ok, I'll be the first to admit that when a dreamy prince calls me darling I may melt at his call, BUT, within a professional context, if you are male (and I do mean straight OR gay), why am I darling? why am I your honey?

In all honesty, I am not your honey. I am a professional. A professional woman that has studied hard at an art form she respects. Yes, I realise within this industry we are all 'lovies' and 'darlings' but it's when it is reduced down to a nickname for the only blonde in the cast I begin to take notice. "Oh, Sam, Simon, Robert, we are in the next room. Joanna honey, sweety, would you care to join us also?". Yes, I would care to join you, just like Sam, Simon & Robert, because it is my job, and just because I have a pair of tits and a vagina does not mean you need to be nicer about asking me. My female form does not give you reason to treat me like I am delicate. I, within my life, will deal with pain beyond your non-vagina imagination.

Men, I like you, but this pussy-footing has to end. You know those women that want you to ballet dance around them?
Those women will be the death of you.
Those women have double standards.
Any decent woman today realises the death of petty nicknames is imminent and the blaspheme they place on our 'race' should be extinct.

I call to you women: Next time someone calls you honey, ask yourself why? Ask HIM why. Why is it you must be referred to as a sugary sweet substance when other gentleman may proceed in their job without a comment? Why is it that our tits (yes, tits), something that we are born with, something that is natural, something that is part of our unchangeable form, must dictate passers' by opinions? Bosses' opinions? Builders' opinions?

I have rather large-ish boobs. And a day won't pass without a comment or a wolf whistle.

Imagine if men had to display their penises for all to see. All hours of the day. First thing in the morning, after a hot bath, after a cold shower, after an all night session. Imagine if their sexual assets were constantly a topic of conversation. They walk past you in the street and you have the right, the audacity to comment on size or form (and what that makes you as a person).

Anyway, enough. Goodnight.

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