Dream on, dream on. As much as I’d like to think, in this enlightened age, there would be a Superbowl for women, I know it ‘s a Bonnie fantasy.
As long as women are shortchanged in the money and power balance that means men dictate the agenda. I can’t imagine a change. There will never ever be a Superbowl for women . According to sociologist Mariko Chang of Stanford’s Institute for Gender Research “the gender revolution has stalled, and the ways it has stalled are reflected in the wealth gap.”
In my octogenarian wisdom I scheduled a ninety minute massage Sunday while the Seattle testosterone-driven Nike clad men slaughtered the equally aggressive but less fortunate Denver eleven.
I got home and clicked on the tv. It wasn’t even yet half-time. Rather then wince and barf I turned the sound on mute. It was fascinating to see the men charge each other with such passion and brawn, posturing like peacocks when they succeeded in inflicting serious physical pain to the guy on the bottom of the pile. The only women present on the field. dressed to incite more sales of Viagra, wiggled their hips seductively. How does this translate to the world in which insults and guns and wars are the prescription for success?
In my hopeless fantasy women alone would inhabit the arena, Joan Baez would be crooning at half time and the winning commercials would be for peace and love with the additional component of education and health care for children everywhere. What would we do and wear? Well, each team member would dress in her own favorite outfit. Some would be in bathing suits or saris, some in levis and overhauls. Each would be doing her favorite dance, but all would join hands in harmony and respect. At half time scarlet ribbons and rose petals would descend from the sky. Michele Obama would be wearing gardening togs on top and workout pants on the bottom. I’m unsure what Hillary would be wearing. Any suggestions? Personally I’d be wearing bra and panties but one could not tell because I’d be covered with body paint illustrating iris in full bloom which would start at my toes and explode with blossoms around my boobs. Catherine Dodd would be in blue and purple leotards trailing prayer flags of every color of the rainbow. Female justices of the Supreme Court would be in flowing judicial robes of rainbow colors and there would be nine of them. My niece Cheari would be pruning hostas around the goal posts. My friend Nancy would be talking with everyone (she loves to talk) and perhaps marketing her purses made from recycled men’s levis. MVP would be Mallea. Rachael Maddow would for one day get off the subject of the New Jersey political scandal to cover the celebration (both teams would win since all women would be celebrating one another) and the men in the grandstands would be sitting sedately except when cheering or saluting as they sipped their watermelon smoothies.
I invite you to comment and say what you would be wearing?
Come on, now, fantasies won’t hurt you.