I've just finished running around my house naked, with Jersey Shore blaring on the television, guzzling wine straight from the bottle,while screaming profanity. Well, not really. But I could have if I wanted to. Why?
BECAUSE EVERY SINGLE ONE OF MY CHILDREN WAS AT SCHOOL THIS MORNING.
This day has been a long eight years in the making, dear readers. Remember back in the day, when I started this whole blog thing and I was drowning in children? That seems like a lifetime of shitty diapers and sleepless night ago. I wanted to punch everyone in the face who said to me, "You won't know what to do with yourself!" Um, yeah, I know exactly what I'm going to do with myself, thanks, since imagining this very day was the one thing that got me through some days once #3 was born. And, yes, even though I still do miss my kids desperately and wish we were all at the beach right now, I am ready to write until my fingers fall off. Well, that and finally decorate the house since "we just moved in" is no longer and excuse for the lack of curtains and living room furniture.
On that note...
I was indulging myself in some daytime television, as I cleaned up from the nuclear holocaust that is my kitchen on days when I have to get all three kids out the door by eight-thirty, when I saw a commercial for Kentucky Fried Chicken's Double Down. I had heard tell of this sandwich/monstrosity, so I ran into the family room and hit rewind on the DVR. "What are you going to do today? Fix that leaky faucet? Vacuum the floorboards?", the spokesperson taunts. He then encourages the viewer to "grab life by the horns", and by that he means eating many strips of bacon and much cheese sandwiched between two fried chicken breasts. 'Doubling Down' is not just lunch, my friend, it's a triumph."
This is the zenith of a trend I have dubbed Meat As Masculinity. It all started in the time of the caveman with male homo sapiens in charge of tracking down and killing the woolly mammoth or saber-toothed tiger. As we have gotten farther and father from that time, and gender lines become more and more blurred, it seems some * mens' obsession with the cooking and eating of flesh has grown in direct proportion to the number of diapers they are expected the change or floors to vacuum. And speaking of vacuuming, notice how the KFC commercial tries to be gender neutral with it's choice of boring tasks to mock. But we all know it's the men this idiot in his flannel shirt and artful razor stubble is talking to.
Now, I don't begrudge men their overt displays of gender, what I take issue with is the poor choice of vehicle in this particular case. I understand there are times when one has a strong need to identify with one's sex. For example, I quite enjoy a manicure which renders my usual field laborer's hands useless, since it makes me feel pampered, and I also enjoy wearing ridiculously impractical shoes while making H drop me at the entrance to wherever we are going or be forced to carry me there on his back*. Both of these make me feel more "womanly", but neither of these vices is going to, you know, cause me to have a heart attack.
I fail to understand the short-sightedness of men with their obsession with high-fat flesh. It seems childish and selfish. Yes, women have their own deadly vices - I'm sure all the hydrogenated fat in the donuts I love so much and the cholesterol in the buttercream icing on my favorite coconut cake aren't doing my arteries any favors - but perhaps from all our years being bombarded with messages of self-control and dieting, women seem to have an internal policing system that, if it doesn't prevent us from overindulging in something unhealthy, we at least have the common sense to feel guilty about it. At this point, you would expect me to start railing against the societal constructs that rob women of gustatory pleasure, and I have on other occasions, but there's a reason women live longer than men. The fact that fitting into our skinny jeans stops us from eating "The Baconator" at Burger King has longer lasting health benefits and the fact that most men could give a crap about how they look in a bathing suit is putting those same guys in early graves. Seriously, the evidence is right before your eyes. The host of Meat & Potatoes, a show solely about the host's obsession with "all things meat", looks like he's one slab of ribs away from turning into Fat Bastard from Austin Powers.
I think some men's blindness concerning the health ramifications of this behavior, much like smoking, is overshadowed by wanting to be "bad", to cast off the shackles of modern manhood and all the stepping around of social landmines involved (Do you hold the door open for her on the first date? How do you discuss with your wife that you really want her to stay home with the kids without sounding like a dick?). So let me put it out there guys. Women do not see a testoterone-fueled feat of achievement when you eat three pounds of beef, or pork, or bacon. We envision you being wheeled out of the OR, just having come out of bypass surgery twenty years from now. And do you feel particularly masculine after you've put away a Double Whopper with bacon? I think you just feel sleepy and bloated. We love you, we want you to stick around. We understand milling around the barbecue, beers in hand, is an excuse to talk without chicks around, but couldn't you also do that while playing pool, or fixing up old cars or boating?
And, really, turkey bacon tastes just like the real thing***
*I'd say "in his arms" to make him feel manly, but we both know I'm a big gal and how narrowly we escaped a trip to the ER when he carreid me over the threshold of the new house last summer.
**Spare me your hate mail. Yes, there are plenty of men who can control what they eat just fine. I do not happen to be married to one of them so my core sample is tainted. Hooray for those women who don't have to count the number of slices of bacon their husband eats at brunch.
***OK, even I know that's bullshit.
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