I’m listening to Michelle Obama’s audiobook, and she’s describing how Barack proposed to her in a restaurant. The server brought the dessert plate and lifted the fancy lid, and there was “a dark velvet box where the chocolate cake was supposed to be.”
And, OK, fine — yay, congrats, mazel, etc.
But also, um… You’re still gonna bring my cake, right? It’s just backstage somewhere?
I feel like she really glossed over the important part.
Y’all, I may be dead inside and stuck in heinous rush hour traffic, but even *I* can’t keep this dipshit look off my face listenting to Michelle Obama recount her early courtship with Barack. JESUS, people, I’m not made of wood. This shit is cuter than a Hallmark movie about kittens wearing tiny sweaters. COME ON. #IAMBECOMING
There’s a point during mutual attraction at which my body takes over and tells my “proper lady” brain to shut the fuck up and enjoy. The people on the receiving end of that shift seem to enjoy it, but I’ve definitely felt disgusting and apologized for it once my brain came back. I have no idea where this comes from. It’s improved, but I sometimes still find myself sinking into a rabbit hole of self-slut-shaming for some of the choices I’ve made.
And this is also getting better but I still do tons of things I don’t want to do because I don’t want to be rude, or hurt anyone’s feelings by saying “no.”
So… this. All of this: “We need to keep changing the attitude that raises our girls to be demure and our boys to be assertive… We need to keep changing the attitude that punishes women for their sexuality and rewards men for theirs.”