I have the answer and it’s simple, obvious, and validated. It doesn’t require science, political division or fear of missteps, misunderstanding, or hyper-religious interpretation. Often the most obvious answer is the right one.
I laughed when I first heard the question on national media. Not because of the ridiculousness of the question (as if the concept is ineffable, like defining love or the vastness of the universe) but because I immediately had the answer. Yes, Vince, who struggled to be a B student and considered changing his last name to “Offenwrong,” had the answer.
So what is the question?
What is a woman?
Now hear me out. I realize that most of us are fatigued by the coverage of what seems to be one of the most obvious and binary either-or’s in the history of questions. Forget about science and biology and physical attributes that drive us knuckle-dragging neanderthals out of our minds. Although that’s clearly part of the “package,” the answer is simpler, exposed, and continually validated in spite of “feelings” or “identity.”
ANSWER: A “woman” is a human individual that is always right. Period. End of definition. And I don’t mean that to sound misogynistic. It’s merely the accumulation of vast stores of experiential knowledge gained from decades of exposure to those who are correct (and also smell good and have really nice skin and hair). OK, it sounds snarky so let me offer an example to validate my definition. And truly there a millions of examples, half of which pertain to driving and navigation and anything produced by Apple.
I live with a correct “woman.” She is always right. And her right-ness makes me question how I’ve navigated life from there to here without losing a limb or finding myself forced to live in a hollow tree in the forest, surviving on ants and grubs.
The other day I was mounting a new toilet paper holder in our bathroom. I’m kinda handy and have a system for these kinds of things and honestly didn’t think I needed supervision. I was wrong.
I taped the paper template to the wall before drilling holes for the wall anchors. I didn’t like the anchors that came with the fixture so I went out to my shop to grab some better ones. When I got back Bekki was standing in the bathroom doorway with her hands on her hips.
“It’s crooked,” she said.
I explained that it wasn’t and that I had used a nifty invention called a “level” that ancient Egyptians used to build the pyramids and stuff.
“I’m telling you it’s crooked… leaning to the right,” she said convincingly.
“I’m telling you.” That’s a specifically XX phrase. Women “tell” us stuff that we couldn’t possibly know otherwise because they have an inherent Rosetta Stone of knowledge in their genome that XY’s were not gifted.
She walked away. I quietly closed the door and locked myself in the bathroom to complete the project…unsupervised. I then vacuumed the floor, gathered my tools, and went back to my shop to put everything away. When I came back into the house she was again standing in the bathroom doorway.
“It looks great! Seeee…I’m glad you fixed it.” She said.
I didn’t respond. Sometimes it’s just easier to let XX’S win. And I had no proof that the template was indeed dead-nuts accurate using only my archaic Egyptian technology instead of having level-headed eagle-eyed double-exer supervision.
But women do it to each other too. And they understand and accept it… because they are in fact “women” who also have the Rosetta Stone of knowledge. So if you see a group of people with nice hair and skin that smell good and you hear, “I’m telling you…” and they’re all nodding in agreement, then you know they’re XXers by definition.
XYers would scoff and walk away or beat each other up.