Yes, I’m still a man-hating feminist pig, whatever. I tried to give it up for the day, but I like feminism. It’s fun and it makes me happy. Plus, if I’m not a feminist, who will refute the Wayward Boy Scout when he is wrong?* Who will mock and shame Kleinheider, while at the same time closing her eyes and smiling at the thought of his massive penis?** Who will cause right-wingers to throw up their hands in disgust?
No, the void left by my retreat from feminism is just too large. I must soldier on. Not for myself, but for society at large.
Before we get to that, though, let us spend a moment listing more good things about the men I know:
1. Sarcastro will continue to talk to me while I’m in the bathroom peeing. I don’t know why, but I find this comforting. There’s “girl you know,” there’s “friends,” and then there’s “fuck it, you’re like family” and I think acknowledging that the person in your house is still in your house even when she’s peeing is at the “fuck it, you’re like family level.”
2. Sarcastro does not offer touchy-feely advice about how I should deal with my feelings.
3. The Butcher bought me a Globe from the grocery store that has, as its lead story, Laura Bush moving out of the White House in anger at W.’s “affair” with Condi.
4. You may not have noticed, but I am frazzled. I mean, I am frazzled. I scheduled two things for the same time this afternoon. And I scheduled two things for the same time Thursday. And I told the guy from State Farm that I would not need a rental car while my car was in the shop and he said, “You know, that’s probably going to be a week” and I was all like “What would I possibly need a car for?***” And I’m sure he was thinking, “Oh, I don’t know, to get places, you dumb bitch,” but instead, he said nicely “Why don’t you just give me a call back when you’ve talked to the repair shop and we’ll get something set up.”
5. The guy at the collision repair shop talked to me like a normal human being. He took me outside and we looked at the car and we both looked at how funky the hood is sitting and he was all like, “I bet you the some-fucking-thing-or-other is bent, but we won’t know until we get in there and take a look. Don’t you think?” “Yep, it probably is the some-fucking-thing-I-have-no-idea-about-because-I-am-not-a-car-or-a-car-fixer-upper, surely.” And then I said, “What do you think it’ll cost me to get that door fixed?” And he said, “Well, now, if you want to get it fixed and all blended and looking like new, it’s going to run you eleven hundred bucks, but hold on” and he gets on the phone and he’s all like “I got me a 2002 Dodge Stratus sedan needs a front passenger door. You got one? In white? White. Yep. Great.” and turns to me, “He got one in white. It’s probably got some dings, but nothing like you got there and I can just swap it out for $550. I’ll give you a call when the door gets here and we can look at it together.” Collision Repair Shop Guy, if you hadn’t had a big ole wedding ring on your hand, I would have probably kissed you, full on the mouth.
6. I know y’all thought it was funny when Exador got all huffy and threatened to leave. But it made me cry. That probably makes me a bad feminist, so I’m going to say it now before I resume my feministory duties. I don’t expect you to understand, but I find the libertarians very comforting. Exador, especially, soothes my soul and I feel lucky that Sarcastro introduced us. He has this way about him that is so solid and self-assured, not in a cocky way, just in a “I have a right to take up space in the world” way that I really like.
He seems unflappable. But his comment was that of a man very flapped. That’s what scared the shit out of me. I really thought he might not come back and, if he didn’t, who could I look to for inspiration on how to be solid and sure of myself?
He claims he’s not mad at me. I hope he’s not just saying that so that I’ll stop writing him pathetic emails. Especially because it’s hard for me to feel good about pointing out how he’s wrong about things when I think he’s really pissed at me.
7. At the park this weekend, Mrs. Wigglebottom and I saw the tall guy again. I don’t know if I told you about him. He’s this tall guy, obviously, who walks at the park and he stands so straight with his arms so gracefully at his side, like lanky ornaments, that I thought for sure he was African. But he said ‘hello’ to us in this deep Southern voice and when he walked by he smelled so good it made my knees buckle. Wow. He smelled like good soap and something kind of musky, but not too pungent.
Okay, seven is good. Seven things that have made me glad this week. I mean, it’s only Tuesday.
*And folks, the Wayward Boy Scout needs a fist full of refuting today.
**And Kleinheider needs to both be mock, shamed, and imagined naked, except for a large, pink feather boa and some kohl black eyeliner.
***I know! Me. Thinking I could last a week without a car. What the fuck? Did I think I was just going to live at the office? Where would I shower?