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“Thanks for not raping us” but drop dead anyway: Retired prof spends full half-hour screaming at husband for not organizing to change men–or something

October 13, 2018

Image result for victoria bissell brown image

When granny gets going, she really gets going–on the opinion pages of the Washington Post:

I yelled at my husband last night. Not pick-up-your-socks yell. Not how-could-you-ignore-that-red-light yell. This was real yelling. This was 30 minutes of from-the-gut yelling. Triggered by a small, thoughtless, dismissive, annoyed, patronizing comment. Really small. A micro-wave that triggered a hurricane.

Wonder what the poor guy said to set her off:

I blew. Hard and fast. And it terrified me. I’m still terrified by what I felt and what I said. I am almost 70 years old. I am a grandmother. Yet in that roiling moment, screaming at my husband as if he represented every clueless male on the planet (and I every angry woman of 2018), I announced that I hate all men and wish all men were dead.

But he’s apparently used to this sort of thing:

My husband of 50 years did not have to stifle a laugh. He took it dead seriously. He did not defend his remark, he did not defend men. He sat, hunched and hurt, and he listened. For a moment, it occurred to me to be grateful that I’m married to a man who will listen to a woman. The winds calmed ever so slightly in that moment.

Although not for long:

And then the storm surge welled up in me as I realized the pathetic impotence of nice men’s plan to rebuild the wreckage by listening to women. As my rage rushed through the streets of my mind, toppling every memory of every good thing my husband has ever done (and there are scores of memories), I said the meanest thing I’ve ever said to him: Don’t you dare sit there and sympathetically promise to change. Don’t say you will stop yourself before you blurt out some impatient, annoyed, controlling remark. No, I said, you can’t change. You are unable to change. You don’t have the skills and you won’t do it. You, I said, are one of the good men. You respect women, you believe in women, you like women, you don’t hit women or rape women or in any way abuse women. You have applauded and funded feminism for a half-century. You are one of the good men. And you cannot change. You can listen all you want, but that will not create one iota of change.

Hmm, maybe instead of funding all that feminism, he should have bought himself a few cases of beer.

But Prof, Bissell Brown is just getting started:

In the centuries of feminist movements that have washed up and away, good men have not once organized their own mass movement to change themselves and their sons or to attack the mean-spirited, teasing, punching thing that passes for male culture. Not once. Bastards. Don’t listen to me. Listen to each other. Talk to each other. Earn your power for once.

The gender war that has broken out in this country is flooding all our houses. It’s rising on the torrent of memories that every woman has. Those memories have come loose from the attic and the basement where we’ve stashed them. They are floating all around us and there is no place left to store them out of sight. Not just memories of sexual abuse. Memories of being dismissed, disdained, distrusted. Memories of having to endure put-downs at the office, catcalls in the parking lot, barked orders at a dinner party.

“Barked orders at a dinner party”? Really? I doubt that Mr. Prof. Bissell Brown has ever dared even to whisper an order in the direction of Her Who Must Be Obeyed.

And now we come to the cone of Hurricane Bissell Brown:

And, for some reason, the most chilling memory of all, the one Christine Blasey Ford called up and that we all recognized: the laughter. The laughter of men who are bonding with each other by mocking us. When Ford testified under oath that the laughter is the sharpest memory of her high school assault, every woman within the sound of her voice could hear that laughter, had heard that laughter, somewhere, somehow.

Ah, indelible in the hippocampus is the laughter.

No man right now understands the flood that is rushing through women’s brains, and only women in the deepest denial have evacuated their minds before the flood could reach them.

Huh? My hippocampus is having some trouble figuring out what the above sentence means–although I think it’s part of Prof. Bissell Brown’s mental boatload of storm metaphors for her man-focused rage.

More confusing but definitely apocalyptic storm-linked figures of speech follow, including Noah’s Ark:

Think about “listen to women” as a program for change. It says to women: You will continue to suffer these abuses, men will continue to do disgusting things to you, the storms will keep coming, the tide will continue to rise, but now, we will listen and help you rebuild.

Pay attention people: If we do not raise boys to walk humbly and care deeply, if we do not demand that men do more than just listen, we will all drown in the flood. And there is no patriarchal Noah to save us.

Gee, and all Mazie Hirono did was tell men to “shut up.” What a piker.

Now, I feel sort of sorry for Prof. Bissell Brown’s long-suffering husband–but only sort of sorry. It takes two to tango, and any man willing to put up with 30 minutes of incoherent hen-pecking from his wife deserves every peck he gets. It’s part of that “funding feminism,” my friend.

Posted by Charlotte Allen

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2 Comments
  1. Deserttrek permalink

    Glad that harpy isn’t near me, it would have turned into an episode of cops
    If I was on the jury , I would let him go and congratulate him afterwards

  2. Kathleen Wagner permalink

    It seems not to have crossed her mind that her husband has learned that she’ll shut up sooner if he refrains from answering her.

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