I've been reading a lot of Caitlin Moran recently. She is funny. And she's from Wolverhampton. Therefore she is ace. I love it when she talks about lady parts, crappy jobs, embarrassing parties...but I sort of switch off when she talks about feminism. Fem. In. Ism. Said like that, it sounds like a tampon.
This I know makes me a bad person. Worse. A bad woman. Other women have died - yes, literally died - for my cause, so that I can work on (reasonably) the same footing as a man, not be tied to the sink (unless it is part of a corking sex game) and have as many children as I want. Or none. Then stop.
But I don't consider myself a hard lined, hard edged, hard nippled feminist. In fact, I am ashamed to say (and this is when I am grateful that my blog is anonymous) that I feel that I need a man to be happy in life.
It's shocking, isn't it?
And in fact, what I am busy doing at the moment is making a little cocoon of men around me so that I feel loved and supported and cared for.
It's pathetic. I've done lots of strong things in my life. I've cycled 80 miles in a day. I've run a half marathon. I've performed in the Last Night of the Proms. I'm a qualified pilot, for God's sakes. But despite all of this, I need a man (or four) to love me.
Even as I write this, I'm feeling a bit vommy with myself. What I would really like is for you to leave a comment to tell me why I feel like that, and how I can stop myself feeling like that.
That would be really useful. Would you mind?