My husband’s father beat his wife regularly to a bloody pulp. My husband’s mother chased the father with a meat cleaver. We make a lot of jokes about meat cleavers (and now you know why) but other than that out relationship isn’t thwarted by fear that it will be anything except what we make it.
The guy in the tweet is a wuss. He might very well be apocryphal but the thousands of guys who are tweeting about how he was right are not. They are all exceptional pussies.
My Dean has no secretary or receptionist and has to do his own secretarial work. And he’s too much of a wuss to protest, take a stand, and demand that this travesty end.
A friend of many years built a cabin in the woods and moved there for a foraging lifestyle because that’s what his girlfriend always wanted. He is so not a foraging wooden cabin guy. He’s a “sitting in a cafe in Paris with a new Gallimard book” type of dude. After a few years of forced foraging, I was afraid we were going to lose him prematurely. He looked bereft and bedraggled, it was heartbreaking. Of course, the girlfriend eventually dumped him for a guy with a better wood cabin. My friend is now free to be who he always was. Last week, he showed up in a new fancy suit and told me about this new really cool cafe in St Louis where he goes every morning with a book. I almost cried.
You can say no, you can have some agency, you can figure out how to do the bloody dishes to mutual satisfaction. Yesterday I had a very confrontationional situation at work. Verbally confrontational, no cleavers. It was a serious issue and we both felt very strongly. After 1,5 hours of debating in very strong terms, we found a compromise and were hugging before we left. If I can do it with a woman I’ve met exactly twice before in unpropitious circumstances (she’s the one who has a dream that there should be no white people on campus), surely one can manage to discuss who’ll do the dishes or express a reluctance to work without a secretary / forage in the woods instead of crying in the corner.
Obviously, most men are not like that. My husband is the opposite of that. He makes reality his bitch, and I love it. But performative wussiness exists, and I hate it.