Snow White. She is a sleepy fairy princess who must be kissed by a prince to return to the waking world. Cinderella is rescued as well, not by a Fairy God Brother, but by her Fairy God Mother. Progressive, as far as fairy tales go. Then again, the glass slipper is slid on her slender foot by a man, and there courtship is what saves her from the daily domestic torture she experiences at the hands of her wicked step-mother and sisters.
These stories relay a clear message. Women are helpless and can’t do a damn thing without a prince, or a beast, or a frog? Yup. We even need frogs to rescue us from our feminine plight! Which leads me to wonder, how have I contributed to this century old and seemingly ever-lasting trend?
Well, here goes nothing.
- Dinners Paid: I expect men, no, demand that men pay for my meal and drinks (and everything else) on our first few dates. I believe this is what gentlemen should do when courting a lady, though I can and do pay for my own meals and movie tickets when out with my friends or alone. If a man refuses, I huff and puff, like a bratty child, and definitely would not see him again. In my mind, a woman should be courted, and with that comes being treated.
- Lift This Up: When carrying a heavy suitcase up and down stairs, I scan the area, hoping that a man will use his muscles and carry the suitcase for me. He doesn’t even have to have bulging biceps or triceps. As long as he has a penis and is a willing picker-upper, I throw my bags right at him. Can I carry a bag up many flights of stair? Of course, though grudgingly. I actually do so more often than not. I live in a 4-story walk up in NYC and there aren’t always men in sight, or willing to help for that matter. Still, I rather not break a sweat if I don’t have to.
- Trash Collector: I loathe taking out the trash. It’s smelly and heavy (see above) and just a pain on my dainty hands. I do it because I have to but, just like the suitcase, I expect a man to collect the trash and throw it down the shoot. I hate trash collecting so much that I pretends to forget to take out the trash. I figure someone else in my household will do it. So if I live alone again, I’m fucked.
- Bang That Hammer: I consider myself pretty handy. I walked into a hardware store, bought a gallon of paint called Royalty, and painted my bedroom walls all in one weekend. I even placed brand new tiles on my bedroom floor all by my lonesome. So, yes, I can do-it-myself, but I am looking forward to the day where I can pass the hammer to a man who can bang that nail in, and later bang me…but not as fast or hard.
- Water Bug Killer: When I see a water bug, I usually scream, “Maaaamiiiiiiiii!” My mother was born and raised in the campos of the Dominican Republic; a water bug to her is as intimidating as an ant. But I know Mami won’t be there forever. Aside from aging, her throbbing knees have left her almost immobile. I cannot expect her to wobble around, at turtle pace, to kill a water bug that speeds like a Corvette on an open road. So a man will be my water bug killer. He has to be or we’ll be two screaming penedejos.
Apparently, I am guilty as charged in regards to perpetuating the Save A Ho complex. This doesn’t mean I need a prince to save me from everything. On the contrary, I would survive and live a happy, though perhaps whiny, life, even if completing these manly duties myself. I know I can do anything that I put my mind to, even if unsavory, because I am a woman. Snow White and Cinderella can’t convince me otherwise.
And that, Pepitas, is the real fairy tale.