I’m Checking My Female Privilege

There’s been a lot of talk on the ole’ Thinkin’ Catalog today about the concept of female privilege. I think it’s an interesting conversation, and definitely one that we should be having. How are we supposed to make society better if we aren’t questioning everything, instead of just the things we don’t like? While the argument can be made that female privilege is simply a function of the patriarchy, and not something that actually benefits women, I still wanted to make my voice heard. I’m doing my part here to catalog and admit to my own privilege — my female privilege — be it a function of the patriarchy that oppresses me, or merely advantages I’m afforded simply because of my gender. For better or for worse, this is real female privilege.

Female privilege is being able to forget your son at soccer practice because you were upset about bad picks for fantasy Baseball.

Female privilege is realizing that your son doesn’t even play soccer, and you haven’t seen him in several days.

Female privilege is remembering that you left him at Gamestop when you got distracted by the cute Israeli working the vape pen stand at the mall, who you subsequently went home with, and fucked without a condom because you mistakenly believed that Jews were not the same species as humans, and therefore incapable of impregnating you.

Female privilege is calling Gamestop and having them not hang up on you immediately and assuming that your inquiry about a softheaded autistic boy milling about wasn’t a prank. Female privilege is having them take down your name and phone number and make a serious effort to locate your missing son.

Female privilege is being able to receive a phone call that your son has in fact, been held by mall security after throwing a tantrum at Build-A-Bear because he couldn’t fit into the bears clothes. Female privilege is not having your parenting questioned when your nude child is screaming the n-word at mall security officers.

Female privilege is shoplifting Plan B on the way to the mall, in plain view of the security cameras, and knowing that they wouldn’t dare call the cops on you because you smeared your mascara before going into the store.

Female privilege is parking in a handicapped spot close to the entrance of the mall and limping all the way to the food court while yelling about Operation Iraqi Freedom. Female privilege is not having anyone question your service record or how you lost your military ID while jumping out of an airplane.

Female privilege is being able to strap a screaming child to a push cart and not have anyone assume that you’re kidnapping him. Female privilege is being able to blame your disabled son for your mistakes, and not feel guilt about it. Female privilege is parading him around the mall, to shame him for getting lost.

Female privilege is not being arrested when you realize that you’ve detained and humiliated someone else’s son. Female privilege is being able to write it off as a goof up and continue about your day.

Female privilege is locating your real son at the mall’s security office, and being able to negotiate his release in exchange for sex.

Female privilege is being delicately informed that it’s just a mall security office, and there is no bail, and having to, ‘suck down the entire swat team,’ is not only unnecessary, but inappropriate.

Female privilege is offering the suck down job anyways and being asked to leave.

Female privilege is going to the liquor store on the way back to your shitty apartment with your disabled son. Female privilege is Evan Williams and texting while driving.

Female privilege is trying to switch seats with your son when you rear end a police car. Female privilege is getting caught on the console and having your ass face the officer when he comes to the window.

Female privilege is being able to blame your fifth DUI on your son’s disability.