Over the Christmas holiday my wife and I had the good fortune to join a group of friends for a little dinner party. The hosts were a young media executive and his lovely wife who happens to practice medicine. We joined about 4 other couples for some fantastic food and energetic conversation. The lyrics were straight DV.net if I say so myself. We hit everything from the nature of the education system, to De Facto Homos, to the wisdom of arranged marriages.
Early in the evening after a couple of glasses of wine, the food arrived at the table. The hosts dropped platters of delicious cuisine and passed out plates. I guess each diner was expected to take a plate and serve themselves. Cool. No problem. When the hostess handed a plate my way, I nodded toward my wife indicating to pass the plate to her, because said she would be serving me.
This seemed to cause pause. Conversation stopped. Room got quiet.
A beautiful sista in the corner, I think she may have been a lawyer, broke the silence with what sounded like a "shiiiiiiiii.... I've got to keep your ass away from my husband. I can't have him picking up these types of habits". Everybody fell out laughing.
The hostess told a story about her father and brothers and how her mother removed their plates after family dinners when she was a child and how she never understood it. She once said something to her mother about it in protest: "They're not crippled! They can remove their own plates!", only to be shushed up by her entire family. Although she told the story as if the incident bothered her, I noticed the memory made her smile warmly.
My wife, reached for the plate, taking it from the hostesses hand and said "Actually I enjoy making my husband's plate". She proceeded to pile on what I liked and she avoided what I don't like. She gave me extra of what she thought I needed and skipped what she didn't think was good for me. She walked around the table and placed the plate in front of me. I smiled at her and said "thank you".
There was some nervous laughter, a pregnant pause, and a silence that seemed to demand further explanation. My wife shrugged her shoulders, said something like "that's my husband. I like making his plate. I don't even think about it."
Couple of brothers chanced glances at their wives with raised eyebrows like sounds good to me. Another sister smiled, raised her glass towards my wife in salut, in a "me too" kind of fashion.
I was left with the suspicion that the initial Pavlovian protest of these young career sisters to the notion of serving their husbands lacked conviction. They wanted to make their husband's gotdamn plate too.
I got the impression they went through the motions of mock horror almost because they felt they were supposed to be horrified. Part of the uniform of the modern post feminist professional woman appears to be the flag waving championship of a gender blurred narrative of equality that divides all tasks 50 / 50.
However marriage, like nature, seems to be divided into male & female. "Equality" is overrated. Balance is supreme.
Gee Chee The Great said ...
I never needed "equal" dealing with my grandmother or mother or father. I've seen homeboys give their everything to their little sisters or vice versa. Too many variables in love to be trying to portion and measure out love with "equal." Equal goes out the window like karate in a street fight.
These men out here working jobs they hate like Cube say, "...cause my son doesn't take no for an answer." You think that ain't a Negro being a servant to his family. He/she is serving because they love. They want to please.
I'm sure DV's wife serves that beautiful little girl and those two strong young men out of love. Ain't no equal in this. Equal is for cats that don't know a natural way to keep their blood sugar down.