After a disappointing meeting with an influential woman, an older, male pastor told me, "Jonalyn, you know who the worst enemy of women is?" He paused with a slow, sad smile spreading across his long face, "Other women."
My heart sunk. This is the legacy we find ourselves living in, a tendency to confess, even if only to ourselves that we'd love the world more if there were less of a certain time of woman. We have the types that bother us. We'd like less of those "passive, mousy women" or "less of those arrogant, male-hating, bossy, self-sufficient women" or "less of those sexy, mincing stepping, buxom air-heads" or "less of the passive-aggressive Christian wives who control their church with a well-placed disapproving glance."
We might want to disavow all the women we love to hate with grand sweeping statements, somewhat like one fictional character in the Angela Thirkell series. Mrs. Brandon let's out a sigh and exclaims,"I want to go to a monastery." To which her older, male friend corrects, "I suppose you mean a nunnery." But Mrs. Brandon was sure she meant a monastery. For a world devoid of women sounded safe, pleasant and less vexing, provided of course that certain women like that brilliant writer Mrs. Moreland and, of course, the Headmaster's wife were admitted.
We all, male, female, European, African, Hispanic, Asian, Indian have our little lists of tolerables and intolerables.