The alarm buzzes. Ugh. Snooze. I roll over and come face to face with my longtime boyfriend. I mean, partner. He’s not my fiancé or husband because I don’t believe in the patriarchal trap of marriage and he’s not my boyfriend because I hate males so much I refuse to use the word “boy” or “man” in any fashion. He’s snoring. Ugh, so gross. Well, he’s good for one thing and one thing exactly.
I get up and slip on my robe just in case some Peeping Tom is at the window to ogle my body parts. Males are always trying to look at me and rape me. Sometimes, the look is the rape. I cinch the tie of my robe.
I trudge to the bathroom and begin my beauty rituals. It’s important to look stunning enough to be able to manipulate any male I want, but homely enough that no one can make a mistake that I’ve bought into the patriarchy. I have a feminist book club meeting tonight and my fellow womyn would be completely affronted by my glitter eyeshadow. I’ll save that for when I need to fool males into thinking I’m a higher species, as indicated by my speckled eyelids. Better go for the minimalist look today…Sandra Bullock would be proud.
I’m almost tempted to shave, but remind myself that the patriarchy has instilled that urge in me. I’ll have to deal with the prickliness. Hey, it matches my demeanor.
