Keep Stoking That Fire

The other day, my cousin’s wife sent me an email with this message:

Read this for a good laugh. This was actually published in a major publication in 1955.

I wonder if it was written by Rush Limbaugh?

Speaking of that jackass, I find it sad that it was money and not common decency that prompted RL (don’t even want to take the effort to actually type out his name) to apologize to the woman he deemed a slut.

A grown, or shall I say, overgrown playground bully?  Definitely.  Why does anyone give that man a platform?

Just for the record, she didn’t find his comments funny, either, and I wouldn’t want to get on her bad side.  She is the future, RL, strong and smart, even in her princess pajamas. You, my pill popping, brother, are stuck in the past.So, on behalf of my daughter and myself, I want to thank all the women who came before me, who, after they lit that fire, took this article and threw it right in the flames where it belonged.  I want to thank the women, who sat down on the couch after a long day of cleaning, cooking, raising their children, and managing their households, and told their husbands to take their own damn shoes off.

I want to thank all the woman who gave me a choice.  I chose to stay home, because I could, but most importantly, because I wanted to, not because I had no other options. It’s because of the women who fought people like RL, and stereotypes, archetypes, and discrimination, that my choice didn’t make me a slave, subjected to someone else’s whims, but happy to raise my children and be my definition of a good wife to a good husband (and that definition doesn’t include reapplying make-up before he comes home).

To all the women who live in the present, and for those that will come after me, keep stoking those fires, because your needs are just as important as his, because a good wife does know her place, and that place is next to her husband as a partner, not a personal slave.  Because loving anyone or anything, sometimes means putting someone else’s needs before your own, and that’s ok, as long as it’s a two way street.  After all, happy wife, happy life.

 

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