I am willing to make certain compromises (not sacrifices) in order to do so – namely, maternity leave and slowing down at work to spend more time with my child, writing less, so I can be more present in my life. I'm not even sure what the sisterhood is, but the idea of a sisterhood menaces me, quietly, reminding me of how bad a feminist I am. Then I feel guilty because the sisterhood would not approve. All too often I don't really like the guy enough to explain the calculus of my desire. I am a fan of orgasms, but they take time, and in many instances I don't want to spend that time. Sometimes – a lot of the time, honestly – I totally fake "it" because it's easier. I consider certain domestic tasks as gendered, mostly all in my favour because I don't care for chores – lawn care, bug killing and trash removal, for example, are men's work. I love diamonds and the excess of weddings. And still, I put up with nonsense from unsuitable men even though I know better and can do better. They're interesting to me, and I mostly wish they'd be better about how they treat women so I wouldn't have to call them out so often. I still call my father with questions about cars, and am not terribly interested in changing any of my car-related ignorance.ĭespite what people think based on my writing, I very much like men. When I take my car to the mechanic, they are speaking a foreign language. If I take issue with the unrealistic standards of beauty women are held to, I shouldn't have a secret fondness for fashion and smooth calves, right? I have opinions on maxi dresses! I shave my legs! Again, this mortifies me.
Maxi dresses are one of the finest clothing items to become popular in recent memory. For years I pretended I hated them, but I don't. I read Vogue, and I'm not doing it ironically. If I have an accessory, it is probably pink. I used to say my favourite colour was black to be cool, but it is pink – all shades of pink. (I am mortified by my music choices.) I care what people think. "Bitch you gotta shake it till your camel starts to hurt." Poetry. The classic Ying Yang Twins song Salt Shaker? It's amazing.
When I drive to work, I listen to thuggish rap at a very loud volume, even though the lyrics are degrading to women and offend me to my core. I want to be in charge, respected, in control, but I want to surrender, completely, in certain aspects of my life. Sometimes I feel an overwhelming need to cry at work, so I close my office door and lose it. I want to be strong and professional, but I resent how hard I have to work to be taken seriously, to receive a fraction of the consideration I might otherwise receive. I want to be independent, but I want to be taken care of and have someone to come home to.
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