Women's Writes - Works

Ever since she was a little girl, this was the world she wanted. The world of high powered deals and fast-moving business. She went to work with her father and watched as the men in expensive suits made things happen, and she fell in love. Her whole education had centered around preparing her to enter the world she felt instinctively was where she belonged. Now she was here. Only twenty-five, newly minted MBA, top of her class, with three job offers even before she graduated. She took the one that seemed the best fit.

One thing I did learn a long time ago about being a woman: whatever you choose, whether it is how you dress, your hairdo, your shoes, your occupation, your housework, even your name, you will be wrong. There will be someone on hand to say no, you’re doing it wrong. You are too feminine. You are not feminine enough. You are too smart. You aren’t smart enough. You are too pretty. You are not pretty enough. You are just…wrong.

A day.
One day.
One out of 365.
Our day.
My day.

She clutched her books to her chest and didn’t look to the left or right as she tried to find her first class. She hoped she wouldn’t have to ask anyone; they all looked…cruel. Unfriendly. She heard catcalls and whistles as she charged through the hallway.

The men pawed through the rest of the stuff. Coins lying loose in the bottom of the purse, the book she was reading, the book she lost before she finished reading it, three photographs of Kaitlin’s dog, and…the man picked up the box of tampons, realized what they were, and dropped them as if they burned him. “Eww!”

He wanted her job, and it would be easy for him to get it. Ever since he started, Angela looked over her shoulder, watching, waiting, expecting the ax to fall on her head. He was everything the company looked for in an executive…young, tall, muscular…he looked the part. She could hear them saying it behind her back. “Straight from Central Casting.” She’d heard that so many times…and they knew she heard it. They meant her to hear it.

Emily sat. Yes, she did mind, but none of her protests in previous meetings had led to anything other than a chastisement that she shouldn’t talk so much…yeah, she just said eleven words…and that she needed to allow the men on the team an opportunity to express their ideas. Except…Caleb wasn’t expressing his ideas. He was expressing her ideas. And doing it badly. He explained the reorganization plan, but he got it twisted around and backwards. She would be sent back to her desk to ‘work on it some more and see if you can make it actually work’.

If I had a dollar
For every time someone
Grabbed my ass –

I cast a vote.
Not my first.
I cast a vote,
My first.

You tell me to be patient.
Things will come in time.
Nothing can be rushed,
And everything has its day.

A text from my mother reminded me my time was running out. Oh, she didn’t nag or anything. She was just asking what I was writing. I dashed off a flippant reply and kept my eyes on the road. An exit announced a town…and that’s what it said. A town, 5 miles. I checked the map. There was no town listed. It must be small. Okay, I’ll give it a shot. If there was nothing, I would be back on the highway in no time.

Burglar, her cat, stared in confusion as she threw the magazine across the room. She resisted the urge to leap after it and stomp on it, strangle it. “It’s just paper and ink”, she reminded herself. No, she’d really like to strangle the person who wrote the article, the one suggesting women depart clinical medicine for the world of alternative medicine. The article explained that alternative contained the essence of the feminine, the spirit of the divine mother goddess that lurks in all women, and that evidence-based medicine – the article called it “patriarchy medicine” – was a trap to lure women into the patriarchal, imperialist, colonialist western lie.

SHE is lying on the sofa, face down, hands dangling. She is asleep…or is she stoned? It’s hard to tell. Empties surround her – empty perfume bottles, empty nail polish bottles, empty compacts, empty make up cases. She has clearly been on a binge.

Playing tetherball alone
While the beautiful girls
Gather on the playground
To talk.

Currently, fewer than 15% of the world’s countries are ruled by women. In spite of the small percentage, that is higher than most of history. Only 2019 was higher, with one more woman leader than now. Europe tends to be the best at electing women. Countries with female leaders include Germany, Bangladesh, Switzerland, Norway, Nepal, Myanmar, Taiwan, Estonia, Serbia, Singapore, New Zealand, Iceland, Trinidad and Tobago, Barbados, Ethiopia, Georgia, Slovakia, Denmark, Belgium, Bolivia, and Finland. Among those countries that have not had a female leader (which is over 100 countries), you can include not only the United States, but also Russia, China, Italy, Japan, Mexico, and Saudi Arabia. If you look at that list, you can see one thing: most of those countries have a highly defined definition of masculinity that would likely be threatened by the presence of a woman leader.

Ben snatched the paper and flew out of the room. The nurse looked at Susan, pleading for forgiveness. Susan forgave her and joined Ben in the car. He squealed out of the parking lot, and raced toward home, breaking the speed limit in a rare show of temper. At the house, he pulled clothes out of the closet, packed two suitcases, and headed west, toward a state where the father didn’t have to sign.

When he woke up, he was in…a waiting room? No, it looked more like the lobby of Olive Garden. He sniffed. It smelled like Olive Garden, too. This might not be so bad, if heaven was an Olive Garden. He could go for pasta every day…every hour, if they permitted. He patted his stomach and his mouth watered.

Devin pulled her close and claimed her lips again. She felt his hands on her back, inside her shirt, against her skin. She tried to pull away, but her passion drove her forward, further into his arms. She gave herself to him, completely and totally. She forgot about the purity card.