Sunday, May 16, 2004

Got new shoes today. Very pretty. And a total rip-off of that wedge slip-on from Dior's Girly collection.

Rose and I discussed philosphy. And by "discussed," I mean, referring her to some philosophers she might be interested in (Hume, Spinoza, etc.) And by what "she might be interested in," I mean what interests me. And by what "interests me," I mean, everything.

Counselled her on how to politely rid herself of her stalker. I told her if it were up to me, I'd just knock some sense into him: "Die, fucker. Die."

But she's so innocent and child-like:

"I've always been nice to him, and he's fun to joke with."

"Yeah, 'cause he wanted to joke himself right into your pants!"

Ah, in this modern, post-"I am woman, here me roar" era, I realize we've only evolved from using skirt analogies to ones with pants.

Molly Murphy, eat your heart out.

Viva la revolution!

***

Feminism is so turn of the century. Dressing like strippers is the new empowerment.

Or is it?

Dun dun dunnnnn *jazz hands, jazz hands*

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