The Fundamentals of Being a Rib

(A bit of fun on my part...)
November 22nd,
Apparently I originate from nothing but a scabby rib. This is quite disturbing I must say. This morning when I cracked open Mr. Charleston's rib cage in order to give him his life-saving heart surgery, it occurred to me if this Genesis story was indeed accurate, then the very thing protecting his frail little beater was the thing that was hopefully going to keep it slugging away for a good few years yet.
Oh the sweet irony.
Or it's possible, at that moment, that my wee streak of inborn evil would overcome and force me to snap off one of his ribs and stab it into the throbbing muscle, leaving a rather grotesque lamb-shank look-alike in his chest? Surely I would gain some delightful piece of knowledge from this little action. I may not be tempted to take a bite however.
But my hunger for knowledge is growing.
From my pretty little perch on top of the totem pole I have begun to appreciate all of the nags about women and their status in society. I've had my fair share of battles, but look at this scabby little hand-me-down rib now, Surgeon General of Great Britain. I was never a feminist, but I'll admit that my little totem perch is mounted with a rib, stuck up proud and rigid, like a middle finger saying, "fuck you" to the world of "man".
And I should feel privileged.
I am well aware that born into different circumstances my career and lifestyle may only be as real as a wisp of silent imagination. Thank God for societal change. What a choice of words, I chuckle to myself as I catch the institution I joke about in my very own vocabulary. What hypocrites are we, who feed on the very derivatives of such a doctrine, to presume however that our way is not dreadfully mistaken?
It's a mistake I'm willing to fight for.
But with our frail disposition, our flimsy limbs, surely we must not be required to fight? Surely there must be restriction on that? Bah, to all you buffoons. I didn't get where I am today without a bit of tooth and nail. Set me up in the same grueling conditions, give me a sharpened spear and hear me roar. I have earned this position. I am the pencil topper. No matter how much my totem pole resembled a penis; it's starting to develop some noticeable curves.
Making the world less… symmetrical.
From a scabby rib to a filler of cribs I will pass this notion on for generations. We, as women may have begun as only a fragment of a man, but it is more than feasible to catch up and surpass the dominant sex in the world. I did it, and many other women have too. Look at good old Maggie T. for instance.
When I read Genesis, I bore witness to the fundamental roots of our apparent inferiority in the world of "man". Here's my slant on the fairytale: In the Garden of Eden, Eve ate the forbidden fruit first because that dumbass Adam had no freaking initiative. Curiosity killed the cat, but it also killed mental enslavement.
Hey, don't blame us for wanting to excel.