Thread. Poor Xeni.
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Review of the new Rebecca Traister book:
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Wow, big surprise says no woman ever…
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Inspired by online recipe sites, he’d sit down to dinner and then let me know what rating I earned. “If I give you five out of five, you’ll quit,” he joked.
Oh sweet FSM, that was my ex. Every freaking night I’d get a restaurant-style review while I tried to eat the dinner I’d slaved over. And I was the one with the job, not him (supposedly he was too disabled to cook), yet I had to run all the menus by him. Actual feedback: “we just had that three weeks ago, and I don’t want to get bored of it”.
I like cooking, and I like eating decently. But I’m never going to make myself cook when I don’t want to, ever again.
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I’ve been cooking since I was a teen. I can roast a chicken, bake a lasagna, make excellent cakes and cookies. There has yet to be a woman who has spent enough time with me to enjoy it besides my mom, who was considered by all at our church to be a fantastic cook.
You know, I’d be so down with being a househusband.
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Hired!
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I’ve thought that in the past as well (I’m not a stellar cook, but that’s largely because I don’t care enough to make fancy stuff for just myself), but it wouldn’t just be cooking and cleaning: it’s mending clothing and making appointments and planning events, and all of the emotional labour that comes with being the person always at home.
My grandmother was a stay-at-home mom for eight (eight!) kids. I can’t even imagine.
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Well, it dovetails with being an artist. Studio time is at home, so I can often multitask. Plus, kids are not mandatory. I like 'em, they like me, but I don’t want to make the commitment to producing spawn.
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I fear that no matter how exhausted from the day, she would say “No, no, please. I’ll fix something. No, really. I’m begging you. Stay away from that kitchen…”
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And that’s the thing…my dad was a pretty crappy repairman, and it took a lot of effort to convince my mom that I didn’t take after him in that respect. However, dad was a decent cook, too, and generally was in charge of grilling, frying, or breakfast foods like scrambled eggs (always done right). He even knew his way around a sewing machine.
P.S. This still didn’t counterbalance his male entitlement, though, so mom was routinely frustrated with him anyway.
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Tw for torture, death:
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I’ve always wondered about this.
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But he would work late at the Bauhaus and only came home now and then
She said “what am I running, a chow house? Is time to change partners again!”
#SorryNotSorry
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He was then forced to sleep with the pigs in the Sow House.
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Anyone lived in a pretty how house
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No, but I’ve lived in a row house. Especially when my sister and my mother were both present.
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I saw some tweets from a meeting this morning. The meeting is centered around developing an guide for some educational tech, aimed at faculty. Meeting is 70% male, 95% white, majority R1. And I tweeted about it, since I think that’s a huge problem. Blindspots galore! It’s fucking 2018. I look at these things, and then at my students, and I’m like “Will there ever be a seat at the table for them?” Are my students going to be perceived as “extra” because they’ve already got their one minority? Will they be excluded from power because the room must be stuffed with white dudes? How do you come up with an education panel with those demographics, except on purpose?
The fuck.
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