Friday, March 8, 2013


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My husband was away for two days travelling for work. In his absence I called time-out for schooling and focused my energy on staying positive/sane, keeping everyone fed, getting the boys to their assorted activities, exercising the dog and watching "Doctor Who." Eight episodes, to be exact. From the season with David Tennant and Catherine Tate. I love it, even if I find it really, really scary. I wish our chesterfield wasn't flat up against the wall -- I'd like to hide behind it. Then the boys wouldn't laugh at my low tolerance for fear.

He (Mr Wrath, not the Doctor) came home bringing with him several hundreds of dollars worth of groceries from Costco, fixed the oven and made dinner.

Did I mention the oven was broken? For the last month it's been a bit sketchy igniting (it's gas powered) and sometimes turned on properly but other times the kitchen just filled up with highly flammable, noxious fumes. I am so averse to gambling I don't even play the lottery, so you can imagine my reaction to the idea of gambling with our lives. Two weeks ago the door almost blew open when the pilot light didn't fire correctly. That was it. I wasn't turning it on till it was fixed.

While Mr Wrath diagnosed the problem, then ordered the replacement part, we tried to make do with stove top recipes and the slow cooker. This was fine on nights when Mr Wrath did the cooking because he loves stir fries. Baking is my forte.  Casseroles, bread, roasts, desserts, oven-baked stews -- these I can make with nary a second thought. Committing myself to standing in front of the stove constantly stirring, flipping, frying or boiling got very old, very quickly.

I'm going to pretend that tonight's stir fry (beef, baby bok choi, mushrooms, onion, black bean sauce, cashews, rice) was Mr Wrath's gift to me in honour of International Women's Day. Ah. IWD. The one day a year  governments, organizations, businesses and individuals are meant to reflect and acknowledge the dire situations and serious issues facing women around the world. And then we argue about feminism.

Here's my two cents: if you think a woman should be able to make choices about her body, her career, her marital status, her education, her politics, her financial well-being or her sexuality without being made to answer to her father or her husband, you are a feminist. If you think that a woman has the right to be paid the same wage as a man doing the exact same job, with the exact same qualifications, you are a feminist.

It's that simple.

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I mean no disrespect by including Patrick Stewart's photo above, since he is a feminist.

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I've just fallen down the rabbit hole of You Might Be A Feminist If. Naturally this one is my favourite.


  1. I once worked with a pompous ass of a man who told me that he had no problem with women wanting to be equal to him. I told him I didn't know anyone who would lower her standards that far.

  2. OMG, I would be so stressed if the oven was giving off noxious fumes. I don't even light candles in the house because of a fear of fire. You can imagine my feelings about the house blowing up. Although, that's silly. I think EVERYONE would be similarly stressed at the idea of their houses blowing up.

  3. Suddenly I'm glad I can't have the gas stove I thought I always wanted. Dinner prep is stressful enough without the possible danger of explosions. :p

    Sir Patrick Stewart just really can do no wrong, can he? Goodness, I love him so. A friend of my sister's is paying many dollars to have a photo taken with him at some con or other (in Seattle I think?) I think I would have a hard time restraining myself from just throwing myself at him. Sure I'd get arrested but IT WOULD BE WORTH IT.

  4. I took your quiz! I am a feminist! Hooray!! [it reminded me a little of Jeff Foxworthy's 'you might be a redneck...']