Charlotte Allen writes, in the Washington Post no less, a screed which any decent forum moderator in 1996 would instantly recognize as a troll and would shut down without remorse.
So I don't understand why more women don't relax, enjoy the innate abilities most of us possess (as well as the ones fewer of us possess) and revel in the things most important to life at which nearly all of us excel: tenderness toward children and men and the weak and the ability to make a house a home. (Even I, who inherited my interior-decorating skills from my Bronx Irish paternal grandmother, whose idea of upgrading the living-room sofa was to throw a blanket over it, can make a house a home.) Then we could shriek and swoon and gossip and read chick lit to our hearts' content and not mind the fact that way down deep, we are . . . kind of dim.
It's times like this I miss Susan so much it hurts.
I'll give it a few days, then check with Travis' blog. He must, eventually, link to this approvingly, which should be entertaining.
No comments:
Post a Comment