Scotland, get your creepy apparatchiks out of our knickers
Is it really impossible for these idiot progressives to see that the more they strain to be to be an ally, the more offensive and twisted they become?
I can’t quite bring myself to check, but I fear there may be women out there who welcomed the news this week that the Pervert People’s Republic of Scotland had appointed a Period Dignity Officer; but only wish they had appointed a woman to the job, instead of — and I’m not kidding here — appointing a man.
If they exist, I would, genuinely, love to have a chat with these women. I would love to understand, really, sincerely, just how badly we, as a sex, have destroyed the minds of our fellow women and girls to the point that they would not just tolerate, but welcome, such a grotesque invasion of both mind and body.
Women, if you think the creation of this office was needed, you are lost. Men, if you applauded it, you are a creep.
In a few months time, I will be 47 years old. I do not need to overshare the details of my own personal physical history, but suffice it to say I have been dealing with my own body for a long, long time now — thankfully, with the help of access to running water, shops and functioning sanitation. In all those years, here are a few thoughts that have never crossed my mind:
Tampons should be free!
I really enjoy talking about my private parts with as wide a circle as possible
I should ask this total stranger in a public bathroom for a tampon or pad
You know what would really help me, as a woman? A male government official to oversee my bleeding uterus. You know, to make sure it was all good down there.
What on earth is going on with this fixation on the woman’s body and its cycles? Where are these hideously creepy men coming from, with their obvious desire to appropriate it?
Women, what has happened to our boundaries? Our discretion? When I was a girl, the most embarrassing thing possible was to have to admit to a male figure of authority that you had your period. If it absolutely had to be acknowledged, it was couched in euphemism. (My favourite one, translated from the Italian, was that a girl was “indisposed.”) In my later teens, when we all had a bit more confidence and were a bit more clued in, the female body and its exigencies provided a cheeky excuse for getting out of classes that we did not want to attend, for example any type of exercise. I went through the better part of the 10th grade telling my (male, and highly embarrassed) gym teacher that I was indisposed every week. We both knew I was lying, obviously, but he would have done almost anything to end the awkwardness of the discussion, and I would have done almost anything to avoid being made to jog. And that was the absolute limit of my comfort level in opening the matter up to discussion. I really hated gym class.
It seems that most of online uproar over this lunacy has been directed at the fact that the Period Dignity Officer is a man. Let me be very clear. I do not need any bureaucrat, male or female, to lend me dignity in my menses. The humiliation of the job going to a man is just a reflection of the humiliation of the office as a whole.
I need no doctor, social worker, or even intimate partner, to lend me dignity in taking care of my own damn body. All bodily functions — men’s included, by the way — are quite undignified. The way we cope with that, as humans, is by not attracting attention to it. Dignity is removed by privacy being taken away. Dignity can never, ever be bestowed by some god awful civil servant. Dignity is self-created.
I’m not sure what part of me is more infuriated by this: me, the woman — or me, the UK taxpayer
.How, exactly, will this functionary go about his job? Will he be popping into women’s loos, asking “Is everything all right in there, ladies?” Will he knock on your door while you are lying in sweatpants on your couch, hot water bottle on bloated abdomen, shovelling microwave macaroni cheese into your mouth, to ask “Are you feeling sufficiently dignified?” If he meets an irate female constituent on the street will he listen to her concerns, then ask with patronising sympathy: “Is it your time of the month, dear?”
Is it really impossible for these idiot progressives to see that the more they strain to be inclusive, to be supportive, to be an ally, the more offensive and twisted they become?
My body is my private property — it’s mine alone and I am really repulsed by a contemporary culture that has placed the functions of my body squarely in the public discourse.
The best way to promote dignity for a woman in her body is by granting her the privacy to take care of it herself. We are not farm animals, you absolute perverts.
Now fuck away off, Scotland.
Perhaps the PDO could suggest women wear little red badges when the painters are in. This way other employees would know to give them space and occasionally slide over a pack of Lindt with a sympathetic expression.
Possibly menstrual huts somewhere on the premises would also be required, with WiFi. This way they can be sequested in dignity, but still be productive.
And if female employees, sorry, bleeders, could report their cycles on a tracking app to HR, this would boost HR's capability to offer just-in-time resilience training for when a hot water bottle just won't cut it.
Or they could treat their female employees like adults and assume they know how to manage their own bodies, after all, they've been doing it their entire lives.
Just when you're certain we have a full supply of useless bureaucrats, they come up with another level, so absurd that even just ten years or so ago it could only have been in jest. Then they compound the asininity by giving the post to a guy. I wonder what we joke about today that will be Progressive reality in a decade. Their capacity for the inane seems limitless.