Don’t Call Me a B*tch
I hate the b-word. I think it’s overused and despite the recent reincarnation as a term of endearment, I will curtly remind anyone not to use it on me.
Unless I really am being one.
My definition of bitch is as follows: a very mean, cruel, selfish woman. If I am being this way, then yes, call me on it.
But, I am not a bitch if I:
- Know what I want and ask for it.
- Have an opinion.
- Am successful.
- Direct people or give orders
- Am aggressive.
- Say no.
- Disagree with you.
- Stand up for myself, my family, my beliefs.
- Take exception to sexual harassment, come ons, wolf whistles, cat calls, or inappropriate remarks.
- Write this post.
I also have an issue with the inherently sexist connotation of the word. When applied to a woman, it can mean a female who is bossy, aggressive, strong willed, unfeminine. Or any woman really. Yet when applied to a man, it’s an insult of another nature. It refers to a male who is weak willed, sensitive, subordinate, submissive, unmanly. Either way, it refers to someone who is not fulfilling their sex-specific gender role.
For me, using it casually, or even as a term of endearment, is almost as offensive as the word itself. I understand reclaiming a word, and I am all for it, but I can never be comfortable with the b-word any more than I am comfortable with the n-word. They serve the same purpose: to denigrate, subordinate, and separate. And don’t give me that “but they call themselves that” BS. We may have become desensitized to the word, but that doesn’t make it ok, in my book.
So for the love of Gloria, don’t call me a bitch, or you’ll see how much of a bitch I can be.