I've been advised to offer an advisory warning to the following so I will since I respect the person who gave the advice; not all men in the world treat women with such disregard, it just seems to me lately that me and my friends have been coming across these kinds of fellows with increasing regularity, so with that warning here is my blog.

"Perhaps they see us not as people but as playthings....."

When it comes to men, I wonder if this statement could not be truer. Men would rather look at a woman than talk to her; they would rather play with her emotions rather than remember she is a tender creature easily broken. It is easy to think of what we are supposed to be, what we are told we should be as women; strong and willing to rival a man in industry and sport, but is that really what we want? It is easy to say we want to be treated equally, but when it comes to love what is our condition? Do we not long for a man who will open the door for us, think every part of our being as precious and wonderful as we do theirs?

"It is not what we say or feel that makes us who we are, it is what we do, or fail to do"

These words were said tonight by a young woman whom one would least expect to make such a statement. Marianne Dashwood was ruled by her emotions and thought the love she felt for Willoughby was true and good. Maybe it was, but it was based on a series of events and moments where Willoughby could seduce a young woman into believing almost anything. Maybe as women, we want to believe everything and that is why the Willoughby's make such a mockery of us.
Maybe we no longer believe that Mr. Darcy, Captain Wentworth, Edward Ferrars, and John Knightly's exist. Can such men exist in a world that screams at us to listen to the Willoughby's and Henry Crawford's of the world? Live by your emotions and be swept off your feet at the first sign a man pays attention to you.

What is that deep longing that stirs inside a woman when a man leans in to listen to what she is saying? What unknown desire is awakened when he says a kind word without provocation? How do we live with ourselves knowing there is so much more out there and yet find ourselves willing to settle for the rake that deigns to settle himself upon us.

Maybe we are playthings, the in between filler they wait for until the woman they want returns their glance. She could be a long lost love, or just someone whose circumstances will guarantee their happiness; whoever she is, wherever she is, may we not allow ourselves to be her understudy. As a modern woman trying to find oneself in the maze of equality and femininity, let us be mindful that there are moments in time where we know with our whole being that this George Wickham is no Fitzwilliam Darcy, and no piece of clothing or airs to be had will change the fact that our souls only stir when the real thing glances at us.