Sunburn Under a Wool Coat
My coworkers are making fun of me because I clearly don’t know how to apply sunscreen. I have big red swathes across my neck and upper chest, the backs of my hands, and the tops of my feet. The rest of my body, which is covered by clothing now, is lily-white thanks to the 30 SPF that I successfully applied. Also, my bathing suit.
So yes, Florida was good and the sun was warm and also burny, and I was a total tourist. Good thing, because I came back to rain. Lots of it. And kind of cold. My airline lost my suitcase, even after my flight was delayed for two hours. How hard is it to get a suitcase from one plane to another, seriously? When you have 2.5 hours to do it? I don’t remember what it’s like to fly without problems. To walk onto one plane, take a leisurely stroll through a layover airport, and then hop on another one—arriving at my destination in good time. That just doesn’t happen to me anymore. Flying also makes me realize how much people annoy me. They’re just always being so stupid. I want to love humanity, I really do, but I’m a closeted misanthrope.
And now, a feminist rant.
At work we were discussing Dr. Laura’s opinion that Eliot Spitzer went to a prostitute because his wife wasn’t making him feel like a superhero at home. Apparently, if your wife isn’t validating you at home, you can’t be blamed for seeking out high-priced hookers to do it for you. First of all, there’s no proof that this is the case AT ALL, but even so. Excuse me? How demeaning is this—and not even for women. It’s demeaning to men. If you buy Dr. Laura’s reasoning, you’re basically agreeing that men have absolutely no control of their brains or feelings, that their tiny fragile egos must be protected by their wives at all times and at all cost, because otherwise they won’t be able to help themselves—they’ll be reduced to doing whatever they have to do, including blowing their families’ savings on whores.
Aren’t men better than that? I certainly hope so.
So yes, Florida was good and the sun was warm and also burny, and I was a total tourist. Good thing, because I came back to rain. Lots of it. And kind of cold. My airline lost my suitcase, even after my flight was delayed for two hours. How hard is it to get a suitcase from one plane to another, seriously? When you have 2.5 hours to do it? I don’t remember what it’s like to fly without problems. To walk onto one plane, take a leisurely stroll through a layover airport, and then hop on another one—arriving at my destination in good time. That just doesn’t happen to me anymore. Flying also makes me realize how much people annoy me. They’re just always being so stupid. I want to love humanity, I really do, but I’m a closeted misanthrope.
And now, a feminist rant.
At work we were discussing Dr. Laura’s opinion that Eliot Spitzer went to a prostitute because his wife wasn’t making him feel like a superhero at home. Apparently, if your wife isn’t validating you at home, you can’t be blamed for seeking out high-priced hookers to do it for you. First of all, there’s no proof that this is the case AT ALL, but even so. Excuse me? How demeaning is this—and not even for women. It’s demeaning to men. If you buy Dr. Laura’s reasoning, you’re basically agreeing that men have absolutely no control of their brains or feelings, that their tiny fragile egos must be protected by their wives at all times and at all cost, because otherwise they won’t be able to help themselves—they’ll be reduced to doing whatever they have to do, including blowing their families’ savings on whores.
Aren’t men better than that? I certainly hope so.
posted by Melanie at 12:11 PM
