On Feminism

I don’t have the mental energy for a thinky post right now, so I’m leaving some mild entertainment instead. These are conversations that have actually taken place in the last week or so (sometimes paraphrased for continuity’s sake):


My sister: Well, I’m more of a feminist than you are
Me: How?
My sister: You’re engaged
[My brain implodes; arguments ensue]
Me: No, I’m not saying I’m more feminist than you. But you’re not more feminist than me, either.
My sister: Well then you can be your feminist and I’ll be mine.
Me: Ok. You can wear skirts and be single and I’ll wear trousers and be engaged and we’ll even out somewhere in the middle.
My sister: Ok.
Me: But stop stealing my tops. And wash that bra of mine that you’re wearing.
My sister: But that’s what sisters are for…


J: I’m glad you’re into this feminism thing.
Me: What? Why?
J: Well, given your…. what’s that word?… you…
Me: Me being me?
J: Yeah… Given you being you, something might actually get done… I could see you in parliament, causing trouble… and I’d be able to say “she’s my wife!”
Me: Probably completely disproving whatever point I wanted to make.
J: Hm. Probably.
Me: So for the good of my country, I shouldn’t marry you…
J: shit.


Chef: So you’re a feminist, then?
Me: Well, yes.
Chef: So that’s why you shouted at [another Chef’s name] for calling you ‘Baby’
Me: Yeah, it helped, but I think most people would shout at him if he called them ‘Baby’…


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