Wednesday, January 06, 2010

Bondes have more fun?

Enough is enough! This has to stop: the discrimination, the supercilious looks, the rude remarks, the prejudiced assumptions. I blame the schools. And the Universities. And the government. And the television. In fact, the media in general. It’s a conspiracy, I tell you. I strongly suspect it is an international plot! Think about it. How many Blondes have you seen in positions of power lately?
Yes, I am talking about the ‘Dumb Blonde’ syndrome. Things have gone too far. It is time that we, the victims, stand together. It is time for us to put up a united front - as it were - and to fight for equal treatment for all, for our Human (albeit Blonde) Rights. And to start with, the first question which needs answering is: why are the parliamentary benches bereft of Blondes? Now I know that most of you will be leaping forward with snappy comments like ‘Put Blondes on a parliamentary bench and what do you get? - benches with inbuilt make-up compacts and blowdryer facilities!’ (I just thought of that one. It’s quite good, isn’t it?)
But seriously, the final straw came when my mostly sweet eleven year-old came home from school sprouting jokes which involved women - it’s always a woman - of the ‘B’-word description. The thing is, his sister, his mother, his great-aunt and grandmother are all of the follically-pale variety. Admittedly, some of the older members are a little more chemically-enhanced than others now that ‘Basic Blonde’ has turned to ‘Mostly Mousy’, but hey! Blonde is the way Mother Nature intended us to be. A long, long time ago, perhaps. But still. I digress. Now, however, my formerly-loyal son is telling his D.B. jokes hour after hour, to anyone who will listen.
I saw it coming, I tell you. When someone first refused to give me credit when credit was due, I began to suspect it. When someone else’s eyes glazed over as I began to voice my views on Wordsworth, I knew I was on to something. When an application for funds was summarily dismissed, I was sure they had scrawled the ‘B’-word over the top of it.
How do I fight back, I wondered? Strongly resisting the temptation to say, ‘It’s because I’m Blonde, isn’t it?” I have devised a set of rules for overcoming the opposition instead. Gather forward all ye blondies and listen. These rules will change your life.
Rule number one: When presented with oversights like forgetting to sign homework books, cheques, affidavits again blame it on being follically inferior.
Rule number two: If you miss the AGM, PTA or TGIF meetings three times in a row, throw your hands up in the air, shake the blonde bob, and say, “I don’t know, I just don’t seem to be able to get things sorted out anymore.”
Rule number three: If you are challenged to give a brief summary of Derrida’s deconstructionism theory, smile sweetly and say “I’m sorry. It’s just too much for me. After all, I’m only a Blonde!”
Rule number four: Write the best deconstructionist essay, compose the most original poem and utter the most ground-breaking statements when everyone least expects it, and smile as their collective jaws hit the ground.
If all that fails, refer back to rules number one to three, and enjoy the lack of responsibility.

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