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A Poor Suffragette

K (Franceè Bouvenir) McSpadden

    On the day I was born, I could imagine that the doctors told my mother: “Congratulations it’s a girl!” and that was the day that my choices of etiquette began; the color pink identified that I’m a female even though it isn’t my favorable color. Dresses were chosen more than pants which I now favor and I was told to cross my legs when sitting- not anymore, I sometimes cross my foot on top of my knee. I only cross my legs to prevent some sick, fresh pervert to what they may encounter within experience the pleasure when daydreaming. Thank goodness for those women’s rebelliousness, it was the result for the ratification that granted them the right to vote, the demand of respect instead of being treated like sex objects and limited to perform domestic servants’ duties. I was an aggressive girl who fought boys, got bruises and got hit with thrown objects, but I retaliated by kicking them in their private area, tripped them, and punched their face. Also, I fought fearless in a domestic violent relationship- I twisted my so-called, want-to-be controlling, children father’s arm, including the knuckles of his hands, and called the police to have him arrested; His lost. Still I could imagine what’s going on through the male shove less mind about working women and why they’re not at home serving their men either in the kitchen or in the bedroom. A woman chooses to work wherever she pleases, but not enough women are speaking out about their rights, while others rather continue to live in the meaningless limitations of inferiority.
    But if I was born with a dangling between my legs: I will have a job instead of collecting unemployment and supplement my income with food stamps, owned a home instead of rented an apartment, owned a car instead riding on public transportation and my children have enough money save up when going to college instead have to apply for government grants.
    If I was married without a doubt, I would be a trophy wife whose husband would
probably have a mistress while he had a thrill of clandestine with laughter behind close
doors. OOPS!!! No need to go to counseling and restore that train wreck of a marriage, take him to the divorce court and pray there’s a woman judge and let that fool know there’s no coming back because no more love lives here. Why should a woman be with a man who doesn’t honor her choices? Personally she’s better off alone and happy.

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