A Woman's Biological Imperative. Or, Hos Be Trifflin'.

I'm about to tell you a story.   (names redacted to protect the innocent)  It's not about the proudest moment of my life.  In fact, I'm stewing in the sour scent of my shame as I conjure the details.  (or that smell could be my flip flops... you know the ones).  Anyway, this is partly because I pride myself on not being one of those "catty bitches" everyone also claims not to be but are usually wrong.  (before you get offended, wait until you see where I'm going with this)

You know, I like to be someone who can "hang with the guys" and is completely self-confident.  I step out onto my porch in the morning with both middle fingers extended, supporting a "take me or leave me" sign.  I don't get grossed out by much.  I can pick up my end of the refrigerator.  I can give another woman a compliment and genuinely mean it.   I'm brutally honest, which can chafe sometimes, but you'll never have to wonder if I'm being disingenuous.  And, I can take just as much brutal honesty as I dish and walk away thinking the better of you for it.

As some of you know, I work in Law-Enforcement which is a male dominated field.  I enjoy it, for the most part.  Also, many of my personal friends are men and it's been this way since elementary school when I realized that guys were more apt to share their toys, say honest things, and be easily manipulated.  I often go to lunch or coffee with various male friends from work or that I know socially.  Just as often, I'm the only woman there, and I work very carefully to make sure these men are comfortable being themselves and saying what they want, so that I'll continue to be invited to said lunches.  (I don't like to go to lunch with the women where I work... they're catty bitches).

Men can't help it either, but
that's a different blog.

So, it is at one of these lunches that my point begins.  About 5 men and I are sitting at the table of some generic chain burger joint.  We're all digging into our greasy whatevers and talking about how we're going to eat healthy someday.  In the middle of one of my brilliant monologues, right as I'm about to deliver the punch-line that will have them spraying diet soda out of their noses, I notice that two of them are looking past me with a brainless glaze in their eyes.
    "Dude," one of them whispers.
As if part of some testosterone-fueled collective and, might I add, with the subtly of a mac-truck using it's engine breaks, they all turn to hone in on one focal point.  No gestures.  No further explanations.  No questions.  It's as if they just KNOW.  They just can feel in their primitively programed DNA that across the room, the genetically gifted, exotic, paragon of sensuous femininity is about to wrap her generous mouth around some kind of phallic food item.  They're quiet for a time, ponderously munching on their lunches while simultaneously eye-raping her.

Yes, I did want to stab her in
the face with my spork.

   "Dude," the rest agree.
It occurs to me that I should pity this woman.  Can't she eat her pornographic lunch in peace without being fantasy-violated?  Instead, I'm pissed.  I'm no longer the center of male attention.  She stole it from me.  And, I'm beginning to have the sneaking suspicion that she did it on purpose.
The inevitable witty dialog ensues from my lunch companions (cover your ears ladies if you're a feminist).  i.e. wanting to drink a gallon of her bathwater.  Speculating on what ELSE they would like to feed her.  Wondering at her sexual preferences, etc.
I roll my eyes.  Not because I'm incensed on behalf of my sex, no, I understand the way a male mind works and I'm resigned to the mechanics, thereof.  Instead, my eyes have just honed in on a drastic flaw in the woman that I can use against her.  You know, other than her being a rank whore.
   "Ugh," I say as she finishes her lunch and sashays out of the joint, her perfect tight ass taunting my stout Irish genetics. "How could she wear that purse with those shoes?"
The men remained silent until she'd completely vanished from sight before the smartest of the group asked:  "She was carrying a purse?"

This is when I realized something horrible about myself.

Let me note here:  I am not the self-designated fashion police. This lady was wearing a lime green shiny Gucci knock off with rhinestones that didn't match her bronze dress or teal sling backs, okay?   It REALLY did look ridiculous, but that isn't the point...  The point is:  I am a catty bitch!
Now, in the scramble to rectify/excuse/research/understand this new and repugnant fact about myself, I came across some interesting information that might leave some hope for catty bitches everywhere.  (and, if you think you're not one, you probably are steeping in your own unpleasant scent... the overly flowery, old-lady -drenched-in-perfume smell of DENIAL).

I'll try to be simple and brief:

Contrary to some mythological dictates of Judeo-Christian society, we are evolutionary creatures who are at least 2 million or so years old.  That, my friends, is a veritable metric fuck ton of genetic programming that we, the more highly-evolved critical thinker, (Think homo-sapiens 5.0) have to fight with our ability to be rational and civilized.  Nevertheless, back in the so-called cavemen days, we as women had a pretty rough lot in life.  Not that it's a bowl of peaches now, but things have greatly improved.  Our pre-historic biological imperative was to propagate the species.  The best way to go about that was to attract the biggest, baddest asshole in our area and get him to want to mate with us. (Sounds easy right?)  After that lovely business, (I'm fairly certain cavemen hadn't mastered the art of the female orgasm... I could be wrong) we had to convince said alpha male that we and our offspring were worth protecting, hunting for, and feeding.  Not an easy task.  Now, with the Y chromosome having 3 to 1 odds over the X, earth has always been more populated with women than men.  So what does that mean for us ladies?

Competition.

Just illustrating my point...  yeah...

The sad fact is, many women have and will be left without a male mate which, prior to the scientific breakthrough of artificial insemination, left them childless.  Some cultures throughout time took care of this problem through polygamy, concubines, and such.  Others embraced the Homo-sexuality of women.  In fact, its a popular theory that all women are at least somewhat bi-sexual and have a greater capability of creating a lasting fulfilling relationship with another woman than males.  However, for most of our ancestors, it was all out one-on-one bitch fight to the top of the pretty pack.  So, why are we still attracted to other men and, on occasion, crave male attention even after we're happily "mated"?  Because historically, men, being the adorable yet domineering war-like creatures they are, usually led a short and violent life often leaving their women and offspring unprotected.  So, said woman needed to stay young-looking and beautiful in case she had to go husband hunting a second or third time down the road... with kids.  (Geez, things really haven't changed all that much, have they?)  So, we've been entrenched in this competition for arguably 4 million years.  With a recent population boom, propagating the species is no longer a biological imperative.  Women have a myriad more life choices than we used too, and some of us are capable of taking care of our DAMN selves.  But still, there are those pesky primitive instincts to steal the attention of all men in our vicinity that have been ingrained into our DNA.

I find this topic fascinating, but I won't go on forever.  My simple point is this:  We ARE catty bitches.  We can't help it.  If we feel like our biological imperative is being threatened, we'll do our very best to find a weakness, any subtle flaw, and rip it wide open, exposing it to others so that we can cling to our tenuous position on the feminine totem pole.  Granted, some of us are worse at this than others.

But, I'm going to look at it this way:  The next time I'm irritated at a certain friend who can't seem to pay me an honest compliment to save her life, or I'm undermined by a co-worker who takes credit for my work or makes me look stupid in front of others (not that it's hard), or a passive-aggressive female family member puts me down. etc. etc.  Obviously, she sees me as a threat, as competition in some way or another.  And that is a great compliment, don't you think?  Also, I'm redoubling my efforts to overcome my baser instincts and be less critical of other females.  We should uplift and defend each other.  We need feminine relationships to support us and empathize with us in ways that men just can't.  By doing that, we could force our entire gender to take another step in the evolutionary process, and just make the world a more positive place.