Well, This is Going to Be Confusing

For generations, the Tennessee blogosphere has been ordered by the understanding that there’s an Uncle on the Right and an Aunt (me) on the Left.

But my nephew has been calling me “Uncle Betsy” since he got here.  And I kind of like it.

This morning, we were discussing what would happen if, when he grew up, he had the same voice as the Butcher.  I told him that this would great, because, he could call and tell the Butcher’s friends to bring “The Butcher” cookies, to my nephew’s house, and no one would be the wiser.

But the drawback would be that the Butcher could order the nephew a bunch of really yucky pizzas.  So, you can see how it would be both hilariously awesome and kind of sucky.

And now he’s tickling my “muscle fat” which is cracking me up.

15 thoughts on “Well, This is Going to Be Confusing

  1. I like it, too, for revealing all my own fucked up gender assumptions. It’s not weird to be for the Butcher to be Uncle. but when I hear myself referred to as “Uncle” I feel pressure to take up smoking and beer drinking and yard work.

    Not that I have any smoking, drinking, yard working uncles, but that’s the kind I feel like I should be.

  2. I’m just wondering. Is this the nephew with the very messed up ideas about women as weak recipients of violence? Because if it is, you could use his silliness (which is very cute) to talk about how women don’t have to be like that. Such as you, for instance.

  3. I go back on forth on how I feel about neutralising gender-associated power name structures.

    I’m just thinking about this bcz of what you say about how being called “Uncle” makes you feel like you have to change, instead of how society is relaxing to accept women in male roles.

    And that, now that I think about it, makes me wonder about Star Trek. Should I be excited that there is a time in the future where women can be “sir” without turning heads in a paramilitary organisation? Or should I wonder just why the hell “Ma’am” has to mean a fussy woman in a butcher shop, a madam in a bawdy house or a censorious prim creature and can’t be made over into just as much a term of power and respect as “sir”?

    I’m probably overthinking it though.

    Drink that beer, mow that yard and what not.

  4. My nephew once slipped up (he was only 3 at the time) and called me “Uncle Carrie.” My brother found it hilarious and so sometimes he and the kids still call me that. Funnily enough only the kids find it funny when we call him “Aunt Brian.”

    I’ve been playing with the Gender Genie. It thinks all my publications are by a male. Although the scores look close with a little more male than female, not a runaway masculinity.

    fun algorithm. thanks, nm.

  5. oh, that last one is me. Although, that only helps to make me not anonymous to a few people out there.

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