For the entirety of my (pseudo-) mature life, whenever I thought about having children I always said I didn’t want girls, I wanted boys because “boys are easier”– they’re less emotional, there’s less drama, all that bullshit. This made me think: What the hell was I thinking? We need more strong, independent, woman feminists in the world, and I’d be more than happy to contribute to that cause. We also need male feminists, so I’d also be more than happy to contribute there too. In all honesty, I will love all my future children equally, and I will raise them all to be my own strong, independent feminist minions. I’d say I was going to raise a feminist army, but I really only want 3 children at the most, and 3 is a pretty small army.
“I’m glad I didn’t have daughters. I wouldn’t know what to do with them.”
My ears perked up in the checkout line at Giant Eagle.
“I mean, I was never girly. I was a star athlete. I met my first boyfriend when I was 28 and he asked me to marry him 10 days later,” The woman in line in front of me continued, “I lived on a farm, but I wasn’t going to give the milk away for free if you know what I mean.”
I glanced at the woman behind me who was also witnessing this tirade. She gave me a wink that let me know I was warranted in my distaste.
The conversation shifted again to the horrific burden some humans bear when they give birth to female humans.
“Well, I guess if I had a girl, she would wear overalls and blue jeans.”
Then came the…
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