If Evolution Works Then Why Don't Women Have Four Arms?
On one of the forums I frequent, they were discussing bumper stickers and someone posted the one I put in my subject line. I chuckled at this and remembered an experience I had last year.
I was in labor with my third child and we we're doing the walking around the hospital thing. On the walls around us hung the entries into an art contest that had been held recently the theme being "Womanhood".
As I'm walking through my pain, I had the chance to stop and rest my head near some of these works of art. There were intricately patterned quilts, paintings, sketches, sculptures, all were very well done, some were even impressive but none had been the winner.
Finally, after what seemed, at the time, like an eternity, I again stopped to breathe through my agony. I looked up and there above me on the wall was a plain, brown doll with a framed piece of paper posted above it stating it as the winner of the contest. I glanced at the doll again and laughed delightedly.
My husband looked up at it and made some comment about it's lacking in anything artistic. Poor man, I thought, he's not in on the joke. So I explained it to him.
You see the doll, although plain and unremarkable was of unusual build. It had:
No face
Large breasts
Four arms
A tiny waist
Big hips and thighs
And small feet
Now I'm assuming most women understand the significance of these things, but for any men (or women) who don't let me explain.
The contest was about womanhood, and this doll captured the essence of the female perfectly. We often feel as if we have four arms for all the things (and kids) we are required to handle. This is essential to our survival and our brains are programmed to forget that we don't. Sometimes I imagine that I must look like an ape, with my feet firmly planted on my babies hips as he struggles to free himself from his diaper change (by the way girls... this works great!). My arms at once wiping the bottom, holding the legs, fending off the child who nearly steps on the dirty remains beside me. It's a circus act and I wonder what I must look like.
Large breasts, tiny waist, and small feet, well, this is obvious. We are women after all.
The big hips and thighs are our reward for bearing sons and daughters, cooking dinner's for a family of 5 that doesn't eat, and not being able to exercise without an entourage.
And sadly, but most poignant for us, no face. We are often invisible to those who ought to love and appreciate us most. Our bodies are there for comfort, nourishment, love, and even on occasion as a form of transportation. But our minds, our personalities, who WE are is so frequently forgotten or put aside. We live lives of anonymity with no earthly rewards.
In one single doll, the artist captured everything that a woman can understand and a man misses completely. I wanted to buy the thing, but since it wasn't for sale and, well, I was in labor, I continued on my trek down the hall and stored this little doll into my memory for later observation. It is funny how easily we misunderstand the opposite sex, yet how easy it is to describe us.
What would the doll of a man look like? Perhaps with strong arms and back to carry the weight of his family, large calloused hands from working long years to support those he loved. Maybe two heads and probably no face, for we often disregard the time and effort that is made by all who sacrifice for love.
I was in labor with my third child and we we're doing the walking around the hospital thing. On the walls around us hung the entries into an art contest that had been held recently the theme being "Womanhood".
As I'm walking through my pain, I had the chance to stop and rest my head near some of these works of art. There were intricately patterned quilts, paintings, sketches, sculptures, all were very well done, some were even impressive but none had been the winner.
Finally, after what seemed, at the time, like an eternity, I again stopped to breathe through my agony. I looked up and there above me on the wall was a plain, brown doll with a framed piece of paper posted above it stating it as the winner of the contest. I glanced at the doll again and laughed delightedly.
My husband looked up at it and made some comment about it's lacking in anything artistic. Poor man, I thought, he's not in on the joke. So I explained it to him.
You see the doll, although plain and unremarkable was of unusual build. It had:
No face
Large breasts
Four arms
A tiny waist
Big hips and thighs
And small feet
Now I'm assuming most women understand the significance of these things, but for any men (or women) who don't let me explain.
The contest was about womanhood, and this doll captured the essence of the female perfectly. We often feel as if we have four arms for all the things (and kids) we are required to handle. This is essential to our survival and our brains are programmed to forget that we don't. Sometimes I imagine that I must look like an ape, with my feet firmly planted on my babies hips as he struggles to free himself from his diaper change (by the way girls... this works great!). My arms at once wiping the bottom, holding the legs, fending off the child who nearly steps on the dirty remains beside me. It's a circus act and I wonder what I must look like.
Large breasts, tiny waist, and small feet, well, this is obvious. We are women after all.
The big hips and thighs are our reward for bearing sons and daughters, cooking dinner's for a family of 5 that doesn't eat, and not being able to exercise without an entourage.
And sadly, but most poignant for us, no face. We are often invisible to those who ought to love and appreciate us most. Our bodies are there for comfort, nourishment, love, and even on occasion as a form of transportation. But our minds, our personalities, who WE are is so frequently forgotten or put aside. We live lives of anonymity with no earthly rewards.
In one single doll, the artist captured everything that a woman can understand and a man misses completely. I wanted to buy the thing, but since it wasn't for sale and, well, I was in labor, I continued on my trek down the hall and stored this little doll into my memory for later observation. It is funny how easily we misunderstand the opposite sex, yet how easy it is to describe us.
What would the doll of a man look like? Perhaps with strong arms and back to carry the weight of his family, large calloused hands from working long years to support those he loved. Maybe two heads and probably no face, for we often disregard the time and effort that is made by all who sacrifice for love.
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