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I’m about to leave for my workshop. There’s this guy, let’s call him Patriarch Peter, who’s also in the class. Two semesters ago, he was proud to show everyone the card he got for his newly pregnant friend that said “So I heard you’re pregnant… *open card* WHORE.” Last semester he called a book ‘chick lit’ because it was written by a woman and had food in it. Last night, he posted on our online discussion forum how he didn’t understand this ‘pro-feminist’ stance that infidelity is cool, in regards to a memoir we’re reading. He also was confused because he hasn’t found out what this memorist’s official ‘type’ of feminism is, because it wasn’t in any of the critical theory he’s read.
Now you know why I look so fucking grumpy.
