A testament to pseudoephedrine

This week I have been sick. Sick, sick, sick. It's just a Belgian 'summer' (and I use the term advisedly, today it's been raining and a chipper 15C) cold, but I feel disgusting - puffy face, grotty nose, and my ears keep popping - all of which gives me the appearance of a slightly unbalanced, alcoholic garden gnome. Hardly the most clear-sighted perspective from which to weigh in on the battle of the sexes. Or to be thinking, really, but I love you guys so I'm going to give it a crack.

Now, what really got the brain bells buzzing on this was the somewhat unwanted comment from a male coworker on my new cold-induced and apparently 'sexy' husky voice. At the best of times, I am many things; at lesser times, I am a few; when I've just spewed something unmentionable into a tissue and broken into a sweat at my keyboard, I am not, by any stretch of the imagination, sexy (unless, perhaps, you thought that 'Two Girls and One Cup' posed a viable alternative to the recycled sewage debate). I have to say, this comment made me a little uncomfortable, and when the only response I could muster was, "I sound like a man, man", I did hope that my (apparent) lady-loveliness would be dimmed by a subliminal reference to The Crying Game. Yes, even in imaginary form, mine is bigger than yours.

Now, after the ick factor of having the 's' word mentioned at work had subsided, this comment got me thinking about gender roles in this day and age. I have to say, I don't worry about being female too much myself. While we seem to be rather lacklustre about supporting feminism in Australia, I do believe that it has a place in current Australian society, and am mystified by women who think that the mere discussion of equality will entail their forced submission to a compulsory razor buy-back scheme. Three words, ladies: Paid. Maternity. Leave.

That said, on a daily basis I don't find the life of a woman of comparative leisure that difficult to cope with, and indeed, the only times I ever really think about it are when I'm flirting my little bluestockings off, or if, as posted below, some little ferret decides to show me his wares on my evening walk.

However, I have worked primarily in either female dominated or 'knowledge' industries, so presumably my relationship to gender in professional terms is generally relatively easy to negotiate. But what if this wasn't the case? What if I had desperately wanted to be an engineer, or a miner, or, let's say citizenship and the desire not to link myself with an economic and moral black hole wasn't an issue, to run for the American presidency? In relation to the issues of 'racism vs sexism' that the US democrat campaign has barely contained, Waleed Aly has argued that while, "Obama discovered the acceptable black man [...] Clinton could find no acceptable way of being a powerful woman".

This made me think: if I was willing to take responsiblity for the lives of more than the small collection of fungi in my shower, what version of myself would I have to present to be a contender? Would I need to start calling the cloudfree sky of rural Australia deliberately barren? Would I be perpetually worried about the contents of my 'fruit bowl'?

I'll be very interested to see how the media portrays Rudd's female cabinet powerhouse now that the honeymoon period is well and truly over. I wonder, how restrictive are our understandings of Australian women in power, anyway?