What women think
November 2007
Who's the boss?
In a few weeks we're off for a spot of poll-dancing. Right after we've watched our pollies doing a dance as well - you know, a few steps forward, a few steps back and then a whole lot of side steps.
We're going to have to decide who we want to lead our country: a man who can't control his eyebrows or a man who can't get himself an adult hair cut.
Is Kevin going to go Home Alone, or will it be Howard's End?
Do you think after ten or so years in the top job, John Howard would be happier to put his feet up, enjoy a cup of hot milo and think about being a bit naughty by skipping his early morning walk just once. The poor guy has got to be tired. He gets home from a long day in parliament, jumps in the shower, gets on the government jet and heads off to pacify another lobbyist agent or minority group.
Has he ever had time to watch an episode of Neighbours? Maybe that's why the pollsters say he's lost touch with the ordinary Australian - he's got no idea who is winning the big bucks on Deal or No Deal or who ran off with whom on McLeod's Daughters.
Then again, why on earth would Kevin Rudd want all that work involved in being the PM? All those long hours and all those bad-mannered back benchers shouting vile things at each other. Having to live in a city where the average temperature is about 12 degrees and you can't get a decent bottle of red.
Why indeed when his wife is reportedly a millionaire. Who wouldn't want to be a millionaire? I mean it's not like they needed the money.
"Honey, we've got the little fella in private school next year and the cost of groceries is going up so much. Do you think you could get yourself a job that pays a bit more?"
"Alrighty darling, I'll have a look in the paper and see what's going. Oh, hey, they're looking for a new prime minister, whatdya reckon?"
"You'd make a fabulous prime minister! Look how well you organised the fete at Marcus's school. It surely couldn't be much harder being prime minister."
Why do politicians say they represent parties when there doesn't seem to be anything akin to a party going on. I don't see crates of champers or Abba playing on the stereo or complete strangers pashing or drunken people telling their friends how much they love them.
To join one of their parties, you have to pay money. No wonder they don't have many friends. "Hi, please come to my party. It will cost you $250." I don't think so.
Just once, just once, could we please have a prime minister who is a big spunk? They are in the news everyday, their dial is on the front page of the paper, it pops up on websites ... How fabulous would it be to see a real man's bloke like George Clooney (he's still not married so I may have a chance) or the gorgeous-to-look-at JFK Jnr (why did he ever pilot that plane!) or even the sexiest Italian I've ever seen in my life who owns my favourite restaurant. The kilos I've put on, eating unnecessary food, just so I can gaze at him! I think that formula would work at a federal level. Vote 1: the Beautiful People Party.
John Howard looks too much like my dad when my dad is trying to be funky and just ends up being embarrassing. Kevin Rudd looks like he wants to sneer at everyone save the 10 or 15 Australians who earn a gazillion dollars. Peter Costello looks like he should be wearing a Churchie uniform. Wayne Swan looks like he needs to undertake a TAFE course in book keeping.
And they're all men. And, therefore, they make us all these promises which of course they don't keep. Yes baby I'll mow the lawn before the weekend. Yes sweetie I'll come to parent-teacher night. Yes love I'll fix the public health system.
Politicians promise to build bridges, even when there's no river.
How about they offer something that women can relate to. Let's start with five years paid maternity leave, with the option to extend it for another two years. Well, yes, tad silly I guess, as well as economically unfeasible. But six months would be nice.
How about a beauty allowance that rises each fiscal year. Men pay scant regard to the cost of being a woman, but any male attempting to manage household finances will know that there's a fair chunk that goes on all things beauty.
Starts with an eyebrow wax and a hair cut when you're in your 20s; extends to hair colouring, acrylic nails, facials, pedicures and massages in your 30s; with a full blow out of corrective treatment programs, non surgical face lists, acupuncture, herbal remedies, body wraps, lymphatic drainage, colonic irrigation, microdermabrasion and reflexology in your 40s.
As opposed to the blokes. Who need - in no particular order - razor, soap, deodorant with an option on after-shave. I've never seen a bloke use a pumice stone or a deep heat hair treatment, let alone rock up for a manicure and a spot of LED light face therapy. Even my gay friends don't have that much product.
Then, there's tampons, vitamins, HRT pills, PMT pills, stuff to make you have a baby, stuff to make you not have a baby, gynaecologists, mammograms, Optifast and more tampons.
We need minimum seven pairs of black shoes (high heel court, high heel sling back, high heel sandal, high heel boot, low heel boot, flats with this fabulous little silver buckle, dainty patent thongs covered in diamantes, Havaianas - well, that's more than seven, so you get my point).
We need three black skirts - just above the knee, just on the knee, just below the knee. We need five white shirts, four pairs of trousers, three denim jeans, two killer suits and a party dress with a pair of oh-my-God-did-you-see-those-fabulous-shoes in Joanne Mercer with all the bling.
I vote for Oprah for PM - she has the ability to connect with everyone on the planet. Then again, I'd also make her Pope and HRH as well. My choice for Treasurer is Carrie Bradshaw. This would mean tax breaks on all shoes over $100. A woman who intimately understands the importance of expensive footwear can manage my country's finances any day.
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