I want to talk about Male Privilege. I capitalize, because it’s an actual thing. Many men are unaware of it because, well, they’re men and they have it. I spoke to my husband about Male Privilege and, while he didn’t scoff, he did get that, “I really wanna roll my eyes because here we go again, but I’d better not roll my eyes on the off chance that she’s serious about this and rolling my eyes will simply piss her off and the diatribe will go on that much longer”, look on his face, but managed, albeit with extreme difficulty, from allowing the eyes to roll.
Male Privilege is rampant in our society and exists on every level from who is elected president to who gets the Viagra. I’m not here to go into the whole, “glass ceiling,” thing or who gets paid 20% less simply because she was born with different genitalia. I’ve covered that and will again, without a doubt, until it is no longer an issue.
Today, I want to talk medication.
I was watching television the other night, practically asleep, when a commercial came on that blew my mind. It’s for a new medication that works to repair vaginal tissue in women post-menopause. My first thought was, WHAT THE HELL HAPPENS TO VAGINAL TISSUE AFTER MENOPAUSE THAT IT NEEDS REPAIRING?! They never answered that particular question, but it doesn’t sound like it’s anything good. I watched the perfectly coiffed women, dressed all in white or off white and reclining on white or off white furniture with white or off white drapes blowing in the sea breezed background, as they smiled and gave me the low down on the 753 side effects this medicine could possibly have. I waited, holding my breath, to hear what it could do. I was never fully informed, but did get this.
“Sex after menopause,” the 30-year-old actress said, “It shouldn’t have to hurt.”
What.
I – what?
That’s all we get? Not only did they not tell me what happens down there that a good dose of KY couldn’t take care of, they gave me a tag line that reads like the warning on a tube of hemorrhoid cream.
“It shouldn’t have to hurt?”
Men get, “Be a man,” and, “You can have pleasure any time you want.” They get three dozen ways to take their youthful erection into their frigging 90’s and women get, “It shouldn’t have to hurt.”
That’s Male Privilege.
Last week I watched The View, and the ladies reported on a medication that is touted as THE solution to a woman’s waning mid-life libido. Okay, I thought, maybe we’re getting there. This sounds like a promising start. This doctor has done scientific studies that say this will increase everything from desire to orgasm in women who have issues in any or all of these areas.
Problem? Of course, you knew there was one.
It’s a shot, ladies. In the vagina. Oh, wait, I almost forgot. It’s a $1500.00 shot. IN THE VAGINA. And – wait for it – it’s not covered by ANY insurance plan at this time.
I can’t even tell you what the stuff is supposed to do exactly because I couldn’t get past the facts in the above paragraph, some of which I find myself unable to read again, much less write. I do, however, want to know how many men would allow someone to shove a sharp pointy thing into their most tender nether regions with only a vague, “it works for many,” as a guarantee for success.
That’s what I thought.
Look, I don’t, by any stretch of the imagination, hate men. I don’t even really resent the edge they have in this world. I don’t even need them to feel my pain! I’m more of a humanist than a feminist, and I just would like to see us sort of even things up a bit, for crying out loud. Pretty sure this won’t accomplish that.
Can you imagine? There’s a beautiful sunset, a gorgeous beach, you and your sweetheart are half a bottle of wine in and you decide the moment is right. He’s cool because he took his little blue pill half an hour ago. You’re feeling like it’ll be okay because you’ve been taking the medicine to fix whatever is wrong vagina-wise (and you have that side-effect tic under control by sheer force of will and a xanax), but you have to put him off for a few minutes while you go insert a needle into a place where needles don’t belong? How anxious are you to see this thing through?
To be fair, my retention of exactly what the procedure entails, what it does and how often, and where it needs to be performed are fuzzy because, as I’ve stated, the idea of how it’s – uh – distributed caused me to throw up a little in my mouth and fight the urge to faint.
But that’s just me.
And it’s a brave new world.
Perhaps this will work for you. Please keep me informed.
I wonder if Gloria Steinham has tried it.
itsallinadaysinsanity 