“Never Hide Behind the Fact That You are A Girl,”

“Never Hide Behind the Fact That You are A Girl,” -Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman

Jane Seymour is really starting to get on my nerves. There I was loading the dishwasher when I was interrupted by her words coming out of the TV. Naturally, like all celebrities she is wagging her finger and delivering these little social justice lectures, also known as public awareness campaigns. What makes celebrities experts on everything, anyway?

So, all decked out in her hoop skirts and long hair, daintily holding her little medical bag, she announces, “never hide behind the fact that you are a girl.”

Say what?? First of all, who’s hiding?? Come on Jane, get with the times here, like perhaps a hundred years into the future. With the NSA, drones, and now wifi barbie, nobody is hiding anywhere. Ever again. If Elf on the Shelf isn’t watching you, that little camera on your laptop can be activated by any unemployed basement dweller with half a brain. There are tracking devices on our license plates, our money, our cell phones.  Besides Jane, my TV was made in China and the little green light glows even when the thing is off. I assume the entire Chinese government is probably spying on me.

Second of all, even in hip waders it’s hard to hide the fact that I am a girl. Not that I would ever want to, but there are just some things you cannot hide, if you know what I mean.

Seriously though, “never hide behind the fact that you are a girl?” Like, “Hey Batman, take a hike, I fight my own battles!” How about, “Oooh, it’s dark and scary down there and I see spiders. Move over dude, I’m going first!” Or perhaps, “Someone dropped their ring down the drain, get out-of-the-way let me show you how to wade through toxic waste like a girl!”

Sorry Jane, this just isn’t working for me. I’m not liking this idea at all. I don’t know how you do things in your world, but in mine we kind of appreciate being able to play the girl card.

There are these raccoons I throw pine cones at to try to chase away from the garbage cans. They throw them right back at me. Have you ever heard a racoon growl, Jane? It’s a cross between a cat and a bear, the stuff of nightmares. I understand why men used to make them into hats. I AM a girl, Jane, and raccoons are not only smart, they have three-inch claws and big teeth. And rabies sometimes. I won’t come out so well in hand to hand combat with a raccoon.

It may be somewhat pathetic, but if there’s a garden snake sunning on the front porch, I’m going to need someone to handle it on account of the fact that I can no longer get into my house. Or into my yard. Actually if he’s still there, I’m hesitant to drive down my street without all the car doors locked…The same goes for dead rats in the driveway. Backed up drains. Groceries that are too heavy…anything mechanical…changing the oil on the car…chasing the prowlers away…screws with square heads…finding the stud in the wall…taking the garbage to the dump…fixing the dishwasher…getting the tree off the house….

What in the heck do you think the corset, hoop skirts, and long hair were for Jane?? Hunting? Fighting Indians? Tackling raccoons?