A fellow over at Forbes pens a piece drawing the obvious marital conclusion for men: avoid career women. Predictably, feminists swarmed the comment section, agog that someone could make such a sensible assertion. Whereupon they proceeded to demonstrate why the company of a feminist is about as endearing as a case of ebola.
Guys: A word of advice. Marry pretty women or ugly ones. Short ones or tall ones. Blondes or brunettes. Just, whatever you do, don't marry a woman with a career. Why? Because if many social scientists are to be believed, you run a higher risk of having a rocky marriage. While everyone knows that marriage can be stressful, recent studies have found professional women are more likely to get divorced, more likely to cheat, less likely to have children, and, if they do have kids, they are more likely to be unhappy about it. A recent study in Social Forces, a research journal, found that women--even those with a "feminist" outlook--are happier when their husband is the primary breadwinner. This isn't that hard to understand. In marriage, the man's obligation is to ensure the happiness of his wife, while her obligation is to provide for the happiness of her husband. Most importantly, both must put aside their own happiness for that of the children. A career woman will not give up her job, either for her husband or for her children. As such, as soon as the marriage becomes burdensome, she will terminate it--which, considering that she spends sixty hours a week at the office, could be quick in coming. With responsibility comes sacrifice, and the enormous task of having children requires an immense amount. If a woman does not wish to sacrifice to create a family, the man who wishes to raise one would be wise to avoid her.
Plumerina has no grasp of this basic concept.I am a single woman in my late 20s with a career I hide from men because of articles like these that fuel such primitive behavior. I was forced into this mode of resourcefulness because I am the only other household earner in my immediate family with 4 other dependents of whom both are sick, whom I must provide for should anything happen to the primary earner. What a woman wouldn't do for love of her family....
To get dates, I pretend I make a lot less than I do, tweak my chat to appear less intimidating, wear shorts and flip-flops all day, and don't tell men what I do for a living. I do not discuss work, and always shrug it off when men ask me what I do. I tell them I'm a freelancer, when in truth, I am COO of a mission-critical company that services a global industry.
I look harmless enough, above-average in looks, wear lipgloss, flutter my eyelids, chuckle like a surfergirl, have a Hawaiian smile, ride a bicycle, wear sneakers, drive a retro junk, and hang out at the beach all day. And I'm very, very lonely because the moment I expose what I do for a living, they all run away like I have leukemia or leprosy.
Here comes the kicker.
What is wrong with men? Why can't they get pass labels and numbers? I'm perfectly happy to close shop to be a mother and wife with a secret backyard enterprise, but as it stands, my clients treat me a lot better than dates do. Note that her inability to find a suitable partner is not her problem. No one likes me, therefore something must be wrong with them. If you can point out the fallacy in this sort of thinking, you're too clever to be a feminist.
I think it pertinent to interject that I also do not get many dates. It is true that I don't seek them often or diligently, but the point remains. Yet I take full responsibility for my bachelorhood. If, when I later decide to find myself a wife, the task proves troublesome, the responsibility will remain my own.
Anyway, the modern feminist thinks she understands the male mind. In reality, she hasn't a clue. Empowered woman thinks she can change man and mold him, not only to like her, but in such a way that she will like him. This process inevitably fails; either she sucessfully changes him into what she wants--a subservient little slave--whereupon she despises him, for he is no longer a man; or she fails and dies bitter and unhappy, as I'm afraid Plumerina seems likely to do. A real man does not allow himself to be changed; this does not mean that he is unchangeable, but it does suggest that the process of becoming is wholly up to him.
Someone might interject that I am likewise clueless when it comes to the female mind. I fully acknowledge this. But as a man, I have some idea about what my half of the species wants. We do not want a woman who feels the need to prove her supremacy--or equity--by, curiously, pretending to be a man. We do, however, like the feminine creature. We respect that which we do not understand; we cherish and protect that which has been entrusted to us.
In short, while we might forever be puzzled by, what my friend Patrick called the eighth wonder of the world, we do like women--women, that is, who remember what their feminine essence entails. The career woman seems to have forgotten. Is it surprising that men have forgotten her?