Like most people, I’m opinionated. I have strong feelings on many subjects, subjects that I care about, and even subjects that I don’t really care about. Basically, you name a topic and I’m sure I have something passionate to say about it.
Unlike most people, if given the remote opportunity I will “rant” or “get on my soap box” and go on and on about said topic. Normally I inflict these rants on my family, friends, coworkers, cashiers at Wal-Mart, and people who happen to stand too close to me and make friendly eye contact. These people will sometimes mistake my rant for an attempt at a conversation. A conversation generally allows for more than one person to discuss the topic at hand, that just doesn‘t work when a rant has been started. This is not an issue as I have been known to talk right through the other person’s comment. I don’t mean to be rude, but when my brain has switched from nice and normal to rant and rave I honestly don’t even hear that the other person has uttered a word!
This has gotten me into a lot of trouble through the years, I blame my father. As a child I had to sit through many a drawn out monologue describing the foils of my dad’s co-workers. I prefer to think my rants on pop culture or other current events are more interesting than the drama of an oil rig. Although the reality show Black Gold may disagree.
Rants are wonderfully fun, I get an exhilarated rush as my words of wisdom pour from my mouth and my knowledge washes over my listeners ears. I just know that I am changing their world, that what I have to say is so earth shatteringly smart they will finally recognize me for the genius that I am. Ah, the euphoria as I inform my listener about the dangers of letting little girls play with Tinkerbell dolls.
My heart races as I describe the sexism displayed by her low-cut, mini dress. The dress so short that artists had to actually draw and color in little yellow panties, seen repeatedly in the Disney classic movie. I can feel my temperature rise as I recall that Peter Pan is fully clothed and we do not see any of his, or Captain Hook’s, undies throughout the entire series.
Tangent - In fact, now that I think about it I have seen many a princess’s bosom, but what of the prince? Is he not anatomically correct as well? If you think that is inappropriate, I agree. But stop and picture a Disney Princess. Does she have long flowing hair, large doe-eyes, lascivious lips, long legs, and a healthy bust? Uh-huh, that’s what I thought. - End Tangent
Yet, Tinkerbell’s character is the one that little girls love. She is the blonde beauty we see at Disneyworld. She is the doll with the seductively large eyes and mouth that lays in a girl’s arms as she plays. She is the scantily clad, buxom beauty gracing the sheets and pillowcases of 3 and 4 year olds nationwide. She is the slender representation of all that holds women down.
Usually at this point, my voice has risen to a pitch that invites a crowd of dogs to agree with the unfailing truth of Tinkerbell’s evil ways. It’s also usually at this point that I suddenly notice my listener is not so much listening as gazing at me with a dull gleam, and a hint of surrender. That’s when I realize that the sexism of cartoon characters is not the appropriate response to “What do you want for dinner?”.
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