I know there are plenty of things in this world to get my knickers all in a twist over, but this one's happened a couple times in the last little space of time, and I have to say, it really is starting to grind my gears a little. The problem? Mail (invitations, cards, etc.) addressed just to me, but in the following manner: "Mrs. Shane Blake." And it makes me wonder what the hell decade we're living in, and if I still have my right to own property myself and to vote.
One piece of mail, a bridal shower invitation, came back in August from the friend of a twenty-something cousin of my husband's. I've never met this friend of the cousin, and I don't really know the cousin all that well. She was seven or something when I started dating Shane, and we really only ever saw her twice a year, at the most, until a few years ago when the number of times dwindled to less than once a year on average. She and I have never actually spoken, one-to-one, at any family get-together. But the thing is, she sure as hell knows my first name. It's April.
So I was kind of annoyed at getting this invitation in the mail, which I really felt was extended to me more as an obligation because she's my husband's cousin, than because we really know each other and are besties, and also the shower was all the way up in New England, on the very same day as my daughter's first birthday party. It also flashed through my mind to wonder if she expected me to round up the Pennsylvania contingent of the family tree and truck up there for this shower, or if it was just a solicitation for a shower gift.
I know. I'm a pisser when it comes to social things like this. But I think I'm just the one coming right out and saying what we all think, from time to time, when invitations such as this turn up in our mailboxes.
And then there was the matter of the invitation being addressed to "Mrs. Shane Blake." Bloody hell. I think this particular set of quite conservative, quite churchy young women are trying to be all proper and Victorian. From what little I've seen of the cousin over the years, I figure she'd be all in to that sort of thing. The thing is, it's 2012.
See, I grew up during feminism's Third Wave, in the 1990s, when it was all about GRRL Power, and Lilith Fair, and spelling woman/women as "womyn" and really thinking about and challenging the Second Wave, the feminism from the bra-burning 60s. I didn't adhere to everything GRRL Power, but growing up in that era has definitely made me think before I address an envelope or assume another woman has taken her husband's last name, or if she's even married at all.
These little girls who are now in their mid-twenties grew up after I did. Their philosophies ought to have been as informed as mine, but I suspect they were sheltered by parents who saw the Third Wave coming and got worried that their sweet little girls would grow up to be snarling, head-shaved, braless, Femi-Nazis who stand on every corner pushing abortions on every pregnant woman that they meet, and also who hate men a lot. So perhaps they took an ultra-conservative, Victorian approach to raising these little girls, molding them into little latter-day Annes of Green Gables and making sure they'll happily adopt such things as losing one's identity completely once the wedding ring is on the finger, going from "Miss Penelope Prisspants" to "Mrs. Jonathan Fussbudget."
Now, there's nothing wrong with Anne of Green Gables. It was one of my favorite books, growing up, too. But it's important to remember that Anne Shirley lived in the late 1800s. This was an era where a woman was defined first in her life by who her father was and what he did, and then later, by who her husband was and what he did. Back then, a woman's way to climb the social and economic ladder was usually through marrying well then nagging her husband to go after bigger and better ladders for the rest of their lives. Girls in Anne's day might have gone to teacher's college, but the main objective was to get the Mrs. degree, or if she failed to meet her One True Love (meal ticket) at teacher's college, at least she could support herself while she looked for him. Then once the right marriage was made, Mrs. would usually quit her teaching job, so the next single girl fresh out of teacher's college could fill it while she looked for Mr. Right, and the cycle continued. And if a woman wasn't married by the time she was 25, she was considered a Spinster and was always looked at by society with a bit of a hairy eyeball: what was wrong with her?
Things in today's world are far from perfect, but I don't want to go back to those "simpler" days, and I don't want my daughter growing up thinking that's how things need to be.
The other piece of mail, which I probably would have been able to let go of my rage had it not been for receiving the first, a month before, was a birthday card from an aged relative of Shane's. It's nice to get kind words on my birthday from anyone, but seeing the card's address, "Mrs. Shane Blake...." was like a punch in the face this time around. I can't remember in years past if this person addressed my birthday card as such. Probably she did. But the thing is, she's from an era where, according to my etiquette book (YES! I have an etiquette book! You have to know the rules before you choose which ones to follow and which ones to ignore completely!), when a woman was single, she was addressed as "Miss Sally Singleton," her first name, her last name. When she got married to Mr. John Doubleplay, she became Mrs. John Doubleplay. When she and Mr. Doubleplay divorced (the shame!) or Mr. Doubleplay kicked over from a heart attack suffered at a stag party thrown by his friend Barney Goodtimes, tragic, widowed Mrs. John Doubleplay was known as Mrs. Sally Doubleplay.
Only through divorce or the death of her husband could Sally sort of be defined for herself again.
The older relative, I can kind of excuse for addressing my birthday card as Mrs. Shane Blake, since she's a throw-back from an era where women were defined by their fathers then their husbands instead of by who they themselves were. And like I said, at least it was a birthday card and not a nasty-gram. But still. It was MY BIRTHDAY. When you get right down to it, my husband and his first name have nothing to do with my birthday. This older relative also knows my first name. It's not that hard to spell. A-P-R-I-L, just like the month.
All this vitriol is not to say that when we, the family gets a card addressed to all of us, and on the outer envelope it says Dr. and Mrs. Shane Blake (and family), or even Mr. and Mrs. Shane Blake (and family) (even though my husband didn't spend all those years in school to be called "Mr."), that I spazz out and throw a tantrum such as this one right here. I can bow to tradition when it's called for, such as when my husband is included on the front of the envelope. It is in the interest of an economy of time and writer's cramp. But on his birthday, do any of MY relatives, elderly or otherwise, send him cards addressed to "Mr. April Blake?"
Listen. Despite having grown up in the Grrl Power '90s, I've done some pretty traditional things. When I married my husband at age 21, I did take his last name. It was just more convenient for me, plus my maiden name is an Anglicized version of a central European surname of questionable origin. Nobody could have pronounced it in its original form, and I was always correcting people's pronunciations of my maiden name. "Blake" is straightforward, and if it gets mispronounced, it's probably because the pronunciator is having a stroke, in which case, I can call 911 and seek medical attention for them, and with strokes, ever second counts! I ran with a hyphen in graduate school, and it was cumbersome, and there was still the matter of correcting everybody on the maiden name part of the hypenation.
And for the longest time, I'd bristle when someone called me "Mrs. Blake" or "Ma'am." I've since gotten over that. "Mrs. Blake" and "Ma'am" are respectful, especially if you've forgotten my first name and want to cover for yourself (I'll letcha!), or I never told it to you, or we just don't know each other that well, and you're given to taking that route. I'll also answer to Ms. Blake, which was always my preferred title, if I had to have one. But it's ridiculous on a piece of mail addressed to me and Shane both to have it say "Dr. and Ms. Shane Blake." I mean, that's pathetic. And I'd even considered going back to school for my doctorate, just so I'd be "Dr. Blake" as well, but the area in which I live, it wouldn't take. People would first be confused as to why I'd be a doctor yet not able to write them a prescription for their OxyCodone, and then they'd just go back to calling me "Mrs. Blake" anyway. I used to work with a female dentist who was married to the onocologist at the area hospital. He Was always "Doctor" and she was referred to either by her first name or as "Mrs. [Onocologist]. That's just the way this place is.
I'm referred to all the time as "Dr. Blake's wife," and now as "Zoe's mommy." I don't mind so much, mostly. I'm Dr. Blake's wife, and I'm Zoe's mommy. Wouldn't change those things for the world. But when you're wanting to get MY attention, or you want me to send you a gift, please at least let me keep my own damn first name!
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