Hetero-normative Week: Fire
About six weeks ago, I posted an essay, “The Conspiracy” – a theory that men pass down from father to son the key to getting out of housework. Basically, just screw it up so bad that your wife will never ask you again.
It was a relatively popular post, and I got quite a few appreciative comments. But I also got one comment that read, “How heteronormative.” This comment also had a little smiley face. I guess the smiley face was intended to take the edge off, but even when I don’t know what a word means, I’ve lived long enough to be able to sense a dig.
So I looked it up. Heteronormative has two meanings. The first is not very nice indeed. It states that sexual and marital relations are only appropriate in the most traditional way – a man and a woman. It is definitely anti-gay and often anti-interracial.
Well, my post may have been silly and stupid, but it certainly didn’t portray anything mean-spirited. At least, I certainly hope not.
But I also found a more innocuous definition of heteronormative. It can simply mean engaging in gender stereotypes.
Oh, in that case, Yeah. I do that.
Gee, just a few posts ago (“Not Quite Einstein“) I said that all Men think the Three Stooges are funny, and all Women think they are stupid.
If I didn’t engage in gender stereotyping, I’d be posting once a month, instead of four times a week.
So instead of removing that comment, or even writing a “defense of blog” reply, I have decided to take advantage of my newly found vocabulary word.
I am declaring this “Heteronormative Week” on NotQuiteOld. (but only in the second definition, of course.)
All my posts this week will wallow in gender stereotypes. Men and Women ARE different, and mostly in ridiculous ways.
It won’t be all at the expense of the ridiculous side of Men. I promise to post at least one essay demonstrating something at which Men show superiority. (even if I have to make it up.)
So here’s my first entry in the Heteronormative Week Celebration.
This weekend we went to celebrate the end of the season at our friends’ campsite. Hubby-Friend picked us up, since even NASA’s GPS couldn’t find this place.
When we got there, Wifey-Friend had a nice little campfire going. A circle of large rocks with some good size logs inside making a decent flame. Pretty. Ready for some girl-scout-camp s’mores.
My Hubby and Hubby-Friend immediately set to work “fixing” the campfire. They dropped the tailgate of Hubby-Friend’s truck and proceeded to unload a half-cord of wood (which made me realize why the boys had spent so much time in our shed before we left.)
Well, they built a campfire all right. We weren’t talking marshmallow-toasting anymore. No. This was more like what Tom Hanks built in “Castaway” so ships could see his flames two miles away.
We all had to move our chairs well back. Our eyebrows were getting singed.
And when the fire got to its fullest expression of fire-dom, Hubby-Friend got out the lighter fluid.
True, Scientifically Proven, Testosterone-Related Phenomenon?