Tits and The Patriarchy

Now that I'm finally emerging from a shit storm that lasted roughly two years, the only thing I know for sure is that I'm committed to maintaining a harmonious environment in my own home. That's really all anyone can do. Since this is my home, however, there are men on the periphery. There have been males on the periphery ever since I grew these tits:

Something about tits causes trouble in relationships. All kinds of relationships, actually, because when my mom saw this rack starting to bud, she spazzed. She's got a rack, and Granny the Ho had one too. Mother's main concern was that I'd end up in situations I couldn't manage on account of the rack. She was right, of course, but who listens to her mother when she's fourteen years old and getting an unusual amount of attention?
I got the message that it's best to keep the tits under wraps as a result of the actions of one of the movers the summer my family moved back to Texas. I was 15 and unpacking books in my new bedroom when this fellow came up behind me, pressed his full body into my back, and rubbed his hands all over my torso while he muttered, "Tell me something good," into the hair just behind my ear. I went straight to my mama who told the supervisor to tell his helper to keep his hands off her daughter or she'd be calling the cops. I was standing there and saw the supervisor get a gleam in his eye when he asked for details like he was getting a hard on.

It was gross, and I saw my mother's point about wearing modest clothing. Then I learned how to let my tits do the talking in certain situations. Invariably, however, those are the sort of situations that come back around to bite me in the ass because the man in question only knows the tits. He rarely cares about a thought in my head unless it has to do with how smart he is.

Let me say, here, that all of the fiancees got to know me in addition to knowing the tits. The Man from San Antone knows the full power of the tits, but he is well aware that I'm the one driving them. I may need to drive them in a specific direction to make some money for us both, but that's business in America. Gigi and I have combined the power of my tits and her ass to get our bar bills paid. That's okay too because there's a barter system on the bar circuit.

We must acknowledge that a person's looks are part of the whole package, and how we present ourselves to the world sends a message about who we are. The trouble starts when people label each other based on looks. Take, for example, the recent episode regarding the arrest of Prof. Gates.

Just as people make assumptions about each other based on race, socio-economic status, etc, people make assumptions based on tits. Women do this to each other, too, but most of my experience with people making assumptions comes from interacting with men on a personal level. While these are purely personal observations, I have noticed that many woman share similar experiences so they must represent of some sort of demographic. I'm not sure which demographic, but it's a demographic for sure. Most likely it's the Menopausal Stoner demographic.

Having made this qualification, let me say it pisses me off that some men think I don't know anything about business and politics on account of I've got tits. My education about business and politics began in 1961 when Lyndon Baines Johnson had to suck up to my great uncle in order to secure the Democratic votes in the Golden Triangle area of Texas. That's Beaumont, Port Arthur and Orange. As part of the sucking up process, Lyndon came over to my great uncle's house and bounced me on his lap. I was still a baby then. A few years later, I learned just how much old, drunk white men like to have young girls wiggle on their laps - but those men were not politicians. They were my grandfather's business associates and friends from the country club.

A man may have advanced academic degrees, published books or a CV filled with professional accomplishments, but that doesn't mean he knows more about the real world than I do just because I've been on a feminine trajectory. This same Great Uncle was such a crook that the legendary Percy Foreman was his defense attorney in conflict of interest cases. Percy was known for running a wire through a big cigar and lighting it up just as the other side was about to present their case to the jury. The wire kept the ash secured to the cigar so the jury became mesmerized, watching to see when the ash would fall, so they didn't hear a word from the opposition. The question of innocence or guilt is secondary to the cigar - and in this case, the cigar was just a cigar.

I also learned a lot about business and politics from hanging out with The Man from San Antone. Once we caught a ride to Austin on a little private plane with his father and the Texas Supreme Court Judge 60 Minutes had recently accused his father of buying. A gaggle of trial attorneys joked with the judge that their secretaries were named Lucky, Ducky and Fucky. There may have been a senator there. I can't recall. I know it was a senator who put his hand up my skirt at a party at this same father's building. I refuse to get started on what any observant individual can learn about the price of oil simply by osmosis when you hang out with rich guys and legislators in Texas. So I know about politics and business, the price of oil and the prevailing mindset of the judicial system in America. Growing up Female around men like that informs a girl's perspective.

On the personal level, however, you eventually learn that some men are most interested in a woman because she enhances their self-image. Her primary function is to make him feel like a successful alpha male. A woman's looks and social skills are key to this role since the whole idea is for other men to covet a man's possession because that's what he needs to feel like an Alpha. You have to master the art of flattering business associates in a way that makes associates feel sexually potent without thinking you're hitting on them because you are, first and foremost, the alpha male's property. Whether the man in question is your husband or boyfriend - or your grandfather who needs you for business - you're his property. Whether he is, in reality, Alpha or not is entirely debatable.

This role has certain compensations: Money and Protection. I don't know how it works for women who command large salaries in their careers because I've never operated in that environment, but date rape is a drag for anyone. Also, I've never been hung up on being rich because my experiences with the Man from San Antone showed that as comfortable as life can be with vast sums of money, wealth creates a different set of problems. A refrigerator filled with Tattinger does not make those problems easier to bear.

I'm grumpy today because one of those men on the periphery has been disagreeable. It sucks when some guy chastises you for not paying attention to him as if being married shouldn't automatically disqualify him from The Summer Boyfriend Reality Show. It all goes back to those tits and how they make some men him feel better about themselves.

He lives in an affluent, horsey suburb and drives a sedate BMW, but the money comes from his wife's family. Once he wanted me to pretend to be a former business associate and accompany him to some theatrical production where I would have been surrounded by his acquaintances. Like it wouldn't get back to his wife that he was seen in the company of a vibrant younger woman. How fucked up is that?