Chatting with Sarah this afternoon, we were discussing the various types of girls that her daughter could grow into, and both were expressing our thankfulness that she shows absolutely no sign of becoming one of those hothouse flower types that lives only to be frail and served by Manly Men.
“Oh, I hate that type,” I said. “Grow a pair. I mean, I know you’re a woman, but grow a pair!”
But that reminded me that I almost never use my status as a woman to get guys to do things for me. Well, except when I really, really don’t want to do something. Like, put on a new pair of windshield wipers. I bought a pair of them on the way home from NJ last summer, and mentioned to the man behind the counter that I wasn’t sure I could remember how to put them on.
“Give me a minute, I’ll do it for you,” he said. Which he did, faster and more easily than I would have done, I’m sure.
Then there was the time I simply did not want to be thrown in a pool. I was in college, at a student government leadership weekend. I was lying by the pool fully clothed, and a few of the guys were throwing people in the pool. When they came to get me, I said, “Uh, guys, I have my period.” They all hemmed and hawed and moved on to the next person, evidently unaware of the invention called “the tampon.” Besides, I wasn’t having my period at the time. I just didn’t want to get thrown in the pool.
I think this one comes under the heading of “Messing with a control freak” rather than “abusing your gender role,” but shortly after I moved in with my father, he was watching me mop the kitchen floor one day and told me I was doing it wrong. After a few words were exchanged, I said, “Show me” and handed him the mop. Then I pretended I didn’t get the difference between his mopping and mine until he’d done about half the kitchen, which, of course, he figured out by then and wasn’t very pleased about.
So. Ever used your gender to get a result from the opposite sex, girls? How about you, guys?
Hey, it’s something for a lazy Friday afternoon. Although it may get me thrown out of the Feminist Bloggers Society. Oh, wait. There is no FBS. Never mind.