As I mentioned previously, while in Europe, I became obsessed with finding a pair of harem pants. On our last evening in Italy, we were strolling around Trastavere and lo and behold there they were. In a stall in a small market in Trastavere, Italy a girl from Texas, who has lived in the Midwest for years, found a pair of harem pants made in Nepal. The merchant kindly left so that I could try them on in the back of his stall. They fit. I bought them.
These pants are so incredibly comfortable, and I've already worn them about five times. I've only managed to take outfits photos once, though.
1 These photos were from right after the move -- before our moving truck and furniture arrived and before I got sick of the gendered assumptions that it seems everyone I've met (outside the university) makes.
1. Harem Pants - Market in Trastavere, Shirt - H&M, Sandals - Market in Florence, Sunnies - Oscar de la Renta (thrifted and remixed)
My neighbors, the clerk at the BMV, the furniture sales person, the cable guy, and pretty much everyone else we've transacted moving business with has asked where we're moving from. The next question is to M. "Oh, you must have been transfered?" "Where will you be working?" Ok, I love my husband, and I wish we both had tenure-track jobs in an awesome city, but right now I'm the one with the fucking job. Just because I'm a woman and I have a ring on my finger doesn't mean that he's the one who is employed or that his job is the one we moved for.
As we all know, the economy sucks, and I'm grateful to have a decent salary and benefits for the year. I'm glad that I could get benefits for my spouse and support us both and keep Bailey in kibble and rawhides. I'm also grateful that it looks like the university I'm a visiting professor at this year has a course for M. to teach in the spring semester. I know the situation could easily be reversed. He could be the one with the job, and I could be the one essentially living on a spousal fellowship for the year. But it is not, and I am not. I'm on the verge of screaming at the next well-intentioned but gender biased person who asks him about his job.
M. thinks that I'm overreacting. He doesn't see what the big deal is about correcting the (possibly) sexist assumptions of strangers who he is unlikely to ever cross paths with again. I call bullshit. Partly on him. Mostly on them. I wonder what Wonder Woman would think...?
Have you ever experienced a similar situation or felt that people were making inaccurate assumptions about you based on your gender?
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