Courtney has posted a “day in the life of a feminist” post to give the world an idea of what being a feminist looks like on the micro level. I thought this was a valuable public service, so I thought I’d do the same thing here. So here’s a typical day in the life of this feminist.
8:15 Kiss boy. Tell the other two boys and that donkey to move along. If they think I’m making breakfast for them, they’ve got another thing coming.
8:20 Get dressed. Overalls, work boots, a flannel shirt and a short-brimmed hat that I hide all my hair under.
9:00 Vegan breakfast: Fairly traded coffee with non-dairy creamer, dry multi-grain toast from Whole Foods, tofu scramble with arugula, and the blood of the innocents.
10:00 Write a blog post about how all men must die for justice to flourish. I decorate it with pictures of my cats.
11:15 Fill out paperwork to sue for child support. I don’t have any children, and I only met the “father” once at a party, and I certainly didn’t have sex with him. But hey, the courts are stacked in women’s favor, so he doesn’t have a chance, right? Don’t judge me. It takes a lot of money to look this good.
12:00 Lunchtime blow job with a stranger. I remove his testicles afterwards for good measure. It sounds brutal, but it’s the only way to turn red-blooded American men into anti-war activists.
1:00 My real lunch: Tofurkey sandwich, wheatgrass juice, and curried lentils. I finish off my lunch by smoking a giant, stinky, super-masculine cigar and reminisce about the testicles I’ve removed.
2:00 Abortion time! My doctor’s limited me to one a month out of fear that more might make me sterile, which would make me unable to get abortions. Today’s the day, though, so I’m stoked. If I were a good feminist, I’d wait until the second trimester, but it’s just so fun that I have no patience and just rush right in the second the doctor gives me the okay. I can’t wait until next month’s. Will I be aborting my boyfriend’s baby or someone else’s?
3:00 Time to breastfeed in public. That I don’t have any children used to seem like an obstacle to this plan, but I figured out a system. What I did was I put my hair in a ponytail, wore a shit ton of make-up, a half-shirt, a boy’s letterman jacket, and a virginity ring, and I went to the local megachurch to sign up as a babysitting volunteer for righteous Christian housewives who need a few hours off to go shopping. (Turns out that fundies are right—a woman neglects her duties at home for a mere second, and the homosocialist feminists swoop right in.) Take my freshly procured baby to the local Hooters and proceed to breastfeed in public. If any men object, I snarl, “You like tits, don’t you?”
4:00 My feminist collective and I have a 2 hour performance art piece called “Ode To The Bloody Tampon”. We used to have to do it as street theater, which got us arrested on various bullshit obscenity charges, but the second Obama took office, we were given an NEA grant. Now we can safely spend two hours extracting bloody tampons from each other and showing it to the audience between prayers offered up to the goddess. Between the hefty government check I get for this and my child support payments, I’ll never have to work again.
6:30 No one’s home, which means I can indulge my one vice—eating an entire carton of Soy Dream ice cream and weeping over chick flicks that show the fluffy and beautiful wedding I’ll never have. I pretend like this feminist life is all fun and games, but deep down inside, I want nothing more than to be a neurotic bubblehead whose career merely gets in the way of her one true passion in life, which is catching and keeping the attention of a generic man-boy.
8:30 Six shots of whiskey with the college girls from PETA to help summon my courage.
9:00 Stake out Republican fundraiser so I can throw fetal blood on women in fur coats.
10:30 Like responsible liberals, we do have “The Colbert Report” on in the background during the orgy.
12:00 Drifting off to sleep while dreaming of a world where you get bigger welfare checks if you have an abortion.