When I got married the first time, my mother insisted that the invitations had to be addressed to Mr. and Mrs. with the man’s name first. I did it to respect my mother, but really I hated the old-fashioned patriarchy of it.
Yesterday, I wasn’t thrilled to see a check made out to Dan for a refund of a program I booked and paid for. Just because we’re married, does it mean the check has to go to him?
The new mortgage documents arrived last week, the envelope addressed to Dan. Paperwork to Dan. Um, really? Aren’t we both buying this new house? Suddenly I don’t factor in, despite my hard work and income-earning that make it possible for us to move.
Undiplomatically put, it pisses me off.
Just because there’s a man in the picture doesn’t mean he’s in charge. Not to discredit or undercut my wonderful husband, but I am a woman of the feminist persuasion.
I’m a successful woman at that. I hate the idea that just because I don’t have a penis and hair growing out of my ears I am deemed unworthy of being in charge.
Yes, this is a rant. My husband shares my concerns. (At least he says he does!) I don’t like the assumption that men own their wives, men write the checks, men bring home the bacon. In many cases they do – but I happen to inhabit a marriage of equity, where we are partners through and through, in every way. If we buy a house, it’s the two of us doing it, damn it.
What’s the solution then? To meditate more and not get so bent out of shape when it happens.
The world takes a long time to catch up to modernity. I’m impatient, though, and hate to wait for others to catch up.
Ok – deep breath. We are married and there are benefits to that. Lots of them. I guess I can suck it up and let Mr. Golodner be in charge. At least for a day or two.