TO: Men all over the planet
RE: Calming your fears
DATE: January 27, 2010
Where are you getting you disability 101 info from, boys? This isn’t the old days where my people were called invalids and destined to a life of lying in a bed and staring out the window. We’re a strong, vibrant people who do indeed live rich, fulfilling and rewarding lives. Heck, my life is probably more rich, fulfilling and rewarding than some of yours…
Oh, boys, boys, boys. I am forever amazed at your willpower to be lazy. It astounds me. Really. As you know, I’ve encountered quite a few guys who said they were afraid to date a woman with a physical disability because they fear they will just end up becoming a round-the-clock man nurse. And, as is usually the case with your assumptions, boys, you’re wrong. Again. So it looks like someone has to take control here. Again. Let me set the record straight. Again. It won’t be too much “work” to date me.
*Here is a rundown of some things I can do for myself:
Though I may need a little help in that area (for one thing, I can’t raise my arms high enough to wash my hair all by myself, but don’t get those sorts of thoughts in your heads, boys. Only my husband or a French man who works as my caretaker will be doing that, and he certainly won’t be doing that until we’re married (the husband, not the caretaker, though the caretaker could turn into my husband. Who knows?) – old-fashioned gal, remember?
No, you don’t have to feed me. No, you don’t have to cut my meat for me. No, you don’t have to make sure I’m eating right – I don’t require a special diet (I’m a woman, not a lab rat, here!)
Speak My Mind
But I’m sure you already knew about that one, didn’t you? I don’t need you constantly defending me or looking out for me or treating me like some sort of fragile China doll. Trust me, I can very much take care of myself. I know the two most important lessons in life: Always pay a man of the night in cash and never use your real name. See, I’ve got street smarts.
I’m a writer. I’ve always been a writer. I’ll always be a writer. If scientists looked at my DNA under a microscope, they’d probably see a tiny notebook and pen floating around amongst my genes. I have a job I love. I have a job. Period. That’s more than I can say for some of you boys out there.
A few little things I need help with:
*Tying my shoes (the laces are a pretty pink!)
*Reaching things on high shelves (BONUS ALERT: It’ll give you a chance to show me those abs and flex those muscles; consider it another chance to woo me)
*Ice skating/other contact sports: Just think of us, on the ice, you holding me up; heck, that’s the makings for our own romantic comedy right there.
The way, I see it, boys, this is absolutely a win-win situation for you. Instead of looking at me like I’m some sort of chore, you can now see our interactions as a way of wowing me with your awesomeness – and awesome abs?? xoxo
And really, if you think about it, I could logically have the same concerns about you. I don’t want to be saddled with the duties of supporting you…
[Photos via Audrey Hepburn Complex]