I simply believe in women being better, and doing better, to better women.
There’s this old image of the feminist; the plaid wearing, bra-burning, man-hating, Feminazi that doesn’t shave and has a fucking opinion on everything.
If you know anything about me at all, you know I parade around with my gorgeous hair in stiletto heels with a pack of pit bulls and an affinity for calling folk names like “sugar” and “babycakes”. In addition, I can’t burn my bras, I’m a DD, and they’re fucking expensive.
However, when it comes to opinions, you can bet the farm on the fact that I have them, and they’re well researched and steeped in fact, fuckface, so don’t start a fight you’re not prepared to dig out your Encyclopedia Britannica to win.
I often refute the feminist label tossed my way by those claiming I run a She-Ra, Man Haters Club. Bitch, please. I wouldn’t waste anything She-Ra on something so petty as a man. Those are fucking collector’s items now.
Look, babycakes, it’s like this; I’m not a feminist. However, I’m a woman in the South with an education, some all-around decent knowledge, and a platform. My mouth writes checks, but bitch, my ass can cash them. Yet, I cannot seem to separate the term “feminist” from the unpleasant look that you often see people get across their little nasty frowning faces when it is said.
I prefer to call myself a champion of the underdog, and a defender of those that have been oppressed, or beaten into submission by some arrogant sack of shit that thought he had hands when it came to something smaller than himself. Those are my favorite to toe to toe with. Bitch, my cousin trained Buster Douglas, and I’m a leftie. They never even see that shit coming.
I do work hard to elevate women, yes, because if you can do better, girl then by all means, fucking do better. I do work to ensure that animals are out of the hands of abusive fuckbags, yes, because those good bois and good, good girls deserve better than that. And because of my own daddy issues, I step in when it comes to those little bratty ass kids y’all keep making me the Godmomma to. Or, in my case, Aunt Meow (the sparkly Aunt :)
I actively work my adorable ass off to make sure that I don’t sit around and watch injustices against the weaker and smaller, so they won’t happen on my watch. I just didn’t realize until today that my watch has been on shift since about 1997. Does that mean I need a break? Fuck no, it just means someone is going to pay me all this fucking overtime. And fast, y’all know I don’t play about my money.
Today, a reader of mine told me that RBG was looking down at me proudly. Can I tell y’all I wept like a child when I read that? Ugly crying, like until my mascara lost its’ waterproof right down my damned face.
I have never been more proud of the woman I am. Because for everything that I’m not, for all the things I failed at, didn’t quite achieve, or took the L doing, I have stood for women being better for the sake of being better women for every single day since my little chubby feet hit the damned floor in 1979.
So, if you ask me if I’m a feminist, the answer is “of course not, I don’t wear plaid in May”. But if you ask me if I elevate women, defend the rights of women, stand in the corner of being better women?
Honey, Ask A Bitchface. You know I’ll tell you exactly what the fucking problem is.