Proud To Wear A Bra

Every once in a while, I try to be a feminist, but I just don’t get it.  What’s with the whole burning -(or at least taking off) the-bra-thing in the name of women’s liberation?  How does running down stairs with both hands clapped to your chest and gritting your teeth while long trotting advance the modern female?  We finally have a garment that stylishly supports, and we rip it off in protest?  What are we protesting – comfort?

Once in a while I go braless, and I can’t decide if I feel like a hippie or an Indian.  I settled on Pocahantas Goes To Woodstock.  It’s not a bad style, but I just try to stay on one level of the house.  It certainly hasn’t inspired me to rush out and run for political office or demand a pay raise.  It has inspired me to put on a heavier sweater and close a few windows, though.

I heard some girls are offended that guys check out a girl as she walks through a door he’s holding open.  I figured that was the whole reason he opened the door; I just stand up straight and try not to run into the doorjam.  Girls buy cute shirts, guys buy dinner.  Pretty simple.

Guys always roll their eyes and complain about girls getting out of traffic tickets.  As a person who has been pulled over 5 times and not a ticket to my name, I say “If women have been oppressed by men for several thousand years, and this is the one break we catch, let’s take it!”  150 years ago in the wonderful USA, women couldn’t vote or own property.  My gender was considered property of their fathers or husbands.  After all these years, we deserve to bat our eyes out of a moving violation.

My dad taught me to use my knees for leverage when stacking hay bales, but I’ll always be beat by a man of similar height and build in a hay stacking contest.  I realize my strength limitation, so I don’t mind fixing lunch and watching the toddler, since it’s legitimate work and my physical situation makes me better suited to it.  I could go all feminist and demand equal labor, but then I’d just get my butt kicked by a three-strand bale of alfalfa and look dumb.

I like working on a cowboy crew and riding with men all day, expected to gather my country, rope what needs roping and work the ground when I miss.  I’ll bail off my horse and reach for a wire gate, but I smile and say “Thank you” when a cowboy gets off his horse and helps me close the ones that are stretched too tightly.  I’m not afraid to admit I wear a bra the whole time.

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