This conversation happened about an hour ago.
Amos: I stepped in dog poo today. It went through my toes.
Me: …You were in bare feet?
Amos: Yeah. Then it happened again. A bunch of times. (sad face)
Me: Why were you in bare feet cleaning up dog poo? Why didn’t you put shoes on AFTER STEPPING IN POOP?
Amos: It’s easier to clean poo off feet than get it out of the bottoms of shoes.
Me: Have you at least, um, had a shower?
Amos: Yeah. Well, I cleaned my feet in the sink.
Amos: I used laundry powder.
Amos: Because it was the only thing I could reach. My feet were already in the sink.
Me: You are not a great forward-planner.
Amos: No. (sad face)
You’re lucky you can’t read, because I’m about to yell at you.
Screw you, adorable puppy.
My Bon Vivant article about how you’re probably way more annoying than you think you are, but that’s okay because everybody is.
Read it here!
TRIGGER WARNING: Graphic descriptions of rape.
Hello! Me and my big mouth again.
It’s been a year since Slutwalk, the event that caused people to ask the question: “What are women getting in such a tizz about now? Did someone cancel The View? Has something happened with shoes?”
Of course, those were only certain types of people. Unfortunately, those types seem to be very noisy and have taken to their blogs and forums, both one year ago and now, to rage against this feminist machine and cry outrage at the thought of women congregating en masse for a purpose other than a quilting bee or mass marriage to a cult leader.
These types of people have things to say! And points of view! And objections! Unfortunately, nearly everything that comes dribbling out of their brains and sloshing onto the keyboard is batshit lunacy.
I want to save you, my delightful and good-looking blog readers, the trouble of wading through myriads of posts like this one until, if you’re like me, you start playing a drinking game by yourself with a bottle of cooking sherry and getting tanked because people keep saying that women don’t take enough responsibility for being gang-raped when they’re wearing a singlet. I have condensed the ravings of those who think that feminism is solely designed to set men’s souls and favourite toys on fire into this handy little list.