An Open Challenge To Every Feminist Writer
Progress made root canals not painful anymore, so we can do this
After my thirteen-year relationship ended with my ex-husband, my mother gave me the following tough love advice:
“You don’t understand men. And if you want to make a relationship work, you must understand men. You keep assuming the way YOU think is the way they think. And if you don’t get your head out of your arse, you will die alone in a puddle of your own urine with your nine hungry cats licking it up.”
Ok. Ok. She didn’t say the part about the urine-lapping cats. That’s just me acting affected, as usual. And no, I don’t have nine cats…yet.
But I did take her advice to heart, and I swore by the vestal virgins that god damn it…I was going to figure out this riddle called MEN. (Still working on it.)
And to be clear, I didn’t have this urge to understand men better because I feared never finding a partner. That ship sailed and (recently) sunk. I give up.
Nor do I have some deep-seated Daddy issues that make me prostrate myself at the feet of men. If you read my writing, I call men out on their crap enough to fill a Mar-a-Lago safe.
I wanted to understand men more because what kind of asshole pontificates on…
