You know, if any of you actually read some of the material, you might learn something. It isn't as though all those women whom you so blithely dismiss didn't write anything about their sufferings under the kind of thinking you so long for. A woman of intelligence must be reduced to washing and cleaning and feeding, and die of boredom and frustration; or else remain a spinster. A woman whose husband has abandoned her is stuck with "woman's work", which is to say, industrial or clerical scutwork, because some "theologian" or other great "thinker" insists that to allow her to work to her actual ability is somehow beneath her "dignity". It should be recalled that industrialization began not at the forge or the lathe, but at the spinning wheel and the loom, and that those first employed were women.
You guys have the empathy of stone, and never mind the great numbers of you who have never married and procreated and thus do not yet have any skin in this game. It's hardly a surprise, given the ageless prevalence of your views, that there is feminism, and that so many feminists are so angry. You deserve their ire; you could be the very clods referred to in Dorothy Sayers's famous address, "Are Women Human?": "There has never been any question by that the women of the poor should toil alongside their men. No angry, and no compassionate, voice has been raised to say that women should not break their backs with harvest work, or soil their hands with blacking grates and peeling potatoes. The objection is only to work that is pleasant, exciting or profitable—the work that any human being might think it worth while to do."
There is plenty more where that came from. I am sure that there are women who, in some sense of the word, delighted in having seven or ten or seventeen kids, but even back in the more traditional sixties my mother was practically the only one in the neighborhood who did not all but lock the kids out of the house until they were old enough to be issued a latchkey, so that mom could get out of the house and back to work; and part of the reason my mother didn't do likewise was that the only work she could get was from her perspective no better than what she was doing at home. But eventually she did return to work, because our finances demanded it, for which her reward (besides the pay and the schooling it paid for) was a case of TB. She did not count herself a feminist, because she found those upper-middle-class women grating; but she did not take seriously the idiot notion that a man's opinion and rule were superior simply by virtue of his chromosomes.
It is particularly irritating to see teenage boys posting this nonsense. Perhaps the day will come when you get an apartment or a room in a house, and you will have to do your mom's old scutwork because there's nobody else to do it. Perhaps you can postpone having to do dishes by eating at McDs all the time or by relying on microwaveable dinners and ramen cups, but you'll still need to make the beds and sweep the floors and do the laundry. I tend to do the laundry at our house still, because my mother, the old Dutch cleanser, even sorted the pastels by color, and while I'm not that extreme I still am bound to her standards, and it's not beneath my dignity to do the wash. Eventually if you do manage to breed there will be the question of who changes the diapers and who the kid throws up on. And it strikes me that you feel (though you do not realize it) that your ten hour day (adding a hour of driving and for lunch) is the equal of your wife's eighteen hours (giving her six for some highly interrupted sleep). And it doesn't occur to you that she might have some interests that don't involve soap, food, or dirt.