In the creators well calibrated plan the duty of provider was consigned to man while in every corner of this bountiful earth woman was tasked as the vessel of birth. In tandem, each would complement the other in a bond that was not to be torn asunder. The sweat of mans brow and his guileful exploits, provisioned and protected in a manner most adroit. Woman marveled at the prestige and honor man accrued, believing unto their legacy would these attributes be imbued. Man marveled too, reveling in the glory of all he had done, crowning himself Paramount Chief, worthy of basking in the sun. With all this basking and thumping of royal chests the balance of the scale tipped woefully amiss. Backing baby low, towing water high woman walked to market and to fields to tend the rice. Long have womans days since been, yet short the nights in their wake, when she can rest her aching back from the work it threatens to break. Perhaps if woman had crowned herself before man could sense his grandeur, then thered be a shift in the paradigm that our royalty would ensure.