Our daily sexism

Mulher segura chave como arma para se proteger na rua.

Its the guy who intercpts me at my comute to cat call me, pissing me off early in the morning.

That other dude who were at the elevator and interrupted a conversation I was having with a girl friend to say “women are all like that…”

Its my work colleague who jokes about my sexual life over the coffee break. The female work colleague who advised me to “preserve” myself more, because people were talking… The boss who joked that I should show more cleavage because we absolutely needed to win that pitch. The female boss who, also joking, said I mustn’t get pregnant in the coming year because it wouldn’t be good for the company.

The friend who believes the only logical expalnation for me being angry is being on my period. The ex who asks if I’ve put on weight. The doctor who noticed I’ve changed my name after the divorce and felt it was ok to reprimend me like a spoiled child.

The MBA teacher who makes sexist women jokes at class and calls guys by their names, but women by their physical features (“what now, redhead?”). The other teacher who says there’s no gender discrimination at publicity agencies (HAHAHA!) and that this is only “feminist blogger speech”.

It’s my governor who makes things harder for women who get maternity leave, making career ascencion easir for public employees who don’t have kids or are men. The asshole at Twitter who says women are selfish, a bunch of people trying to get pregnant to “earn theirs without working”. Its the human resource lady who secretly agrees with that and, even though it’s illegal, finds a way to ask me if I’m planning to have kids anytime soon.

It’s the TV commercials that want to sell me intimate soap and daily higienic pads so that I’m always “clean” and “fresh”, and show women cleaning and serving men, while showing men enjoying life, driving nice cars, owning the world. The publicity that offers me a thousand solutions for losing “extra” pounds and sugests me to change my hair completely in order to feel good.

It’s having to ask my boyfriend to pick me up at the subway after my classes because walking home alone at that kind of time puts me in a very, very risky situation…

It’s one little thing at a time, one after the other, all day, every day.

Seriously. Can I have a fucking break? Can you all forget I’m a woman for half an hour, please? It’s exhausting.

Sometimes, I daydream of being Glenn Close at that movie Albert Nobbs and live my life disguised as a man just to get rid of this daily bother that sexism ir. And believe me, I love being a woman!

Photo: woman holds her keys as a weapon to protect herself at the streets, from here.

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