*sees a dog*
me: holy shit
I was wearing this outfit today to a grocery store when I made a baby smile. I was wearing this outfit today when I threw my head back and laughed, when I sang in the car with my family, when I filled it with yummy food to keep it healthy.
I was wearing this outfit today to a grocery store when I overheard a woman telling her young daughter who was pointing and laughing that I would get what’s coming to me. I was wearing this outfit today when a woman told a man that it was the wrong kind of attention and that I was asking for someone to get me. I was wearing this outfit today when the same man stared at my body longingly and then agreed with the woman that I was asking for an attack.
I was not wearing this outfit when I was raped. I was wearing a size XXL hoodie and a pair of my mom’s sweatpants, much to the shock of the friend I told after, who asked what she’d been taught to ask: “What were you wearing?”. I feel so terrible for the little girl whose mother was teaching her at the grocery store that she deserved to be assaulted if she dressed comfortably for the weather, which was climbing above 80 degrees, or for an injury, which called for a brace and a boot that doesn’t allow room for long pants, or for her body, because it’s hers and she can put on it what she damn well pleases. I feel terrible for the man who will look me up and down as though I was a 5 for $20 steak deal he might purchase and will immediately after speak to a presumable stranger about the violent fate I deserved. I feel terrible for the woman with fabulous hair who feels she can express herself but refuses to let me do the same.
Summer is coming up. It’s hot outside. I have an injured ankle, and a tight boot and brace to wear on one leg. I will not dress uncomfortably to protect complete strangers who are so offended by an expanse of skin that they console themselves by predicting my next rape.
Stop perpetuating slut-shaming and thus perpetuating a culture of excused rape. Stop perpetuating slut-shaming and thus perpetuating a culture of insecurity, inherent shame, and body image distortion which can cause an innumerable amount of incredibly dark issues nearly impossible to overcome.
My body is mine, and I love it. It is the house I live in, with which I will someday create a family, with which I run and dance and hold the strong lungs I use to sing. I refuse to be ashamed of it for any reason, especially the reason being that this culture which glorifies sex and punishes those who have it, which encourages being sexy and then preaches that sexy girls ask for attack, has taught its people that my stomach is a sin.
Please think twice this summer before you choose to say anything at all to or about anyone who wears something they choose to wear. Please think twice before you say that a girl deserves to be raped for wearing shorts. Please try and catch yourself when you think things like that. Please be courteous and gentle and loving, and spend your effort tackling real problems. My stomach and legs are not a real problem.
This. Spread this like wild fire.
I’m posting this everywhere.
Licia Ronzulli, member of the European Parliament, has been taking her daughter Vittoria to the Parliament sessions for two years now.
I’m sorry but women get shit done. In fact, not sorry.
One day that little girl will either kill us or rule us.
The first time I saw this a while back, I just thought “huh, cool.” But it really just hit me what immersion like this can really do during those developmental years. This little girl will have Parliamentary procedure in her bones. That’s crazy. And still very cool.
Hey, look what happens when people don’t make a big deal out if stuff like this. Guess what? A big deal does not get made. There would be a shitstorm if someone tried to do this in America. The mother in question would also be expected to either quit her job or find daycare.
One of my best friends took the time to warn her employer that she was pregnant and get them to agree to a set up that would be beneficial to both her and the company. After the baby came and it came time to make good, the company pulled out and said it was because it wasn’t fair to other people. She was gradually forced out of her job and my friend went from managing a successful store to having to endure a debate over whether they were going to pay her the top wage for a cashier.
I say this from experience and I have way more instances to back this up: The grocery store that rhymes with Raider Moe’s is a misogynist boys’ club that literally hates women.
This is literally my idea of success. Being able to go to work with a baby strapped to your chest.
|—||my life motto for the past 20 years (via beyleesis)|
it’s a metaphor
The best part is that the crab is the symbol for the zodiac sign Cancer, so in a way even the crab itself is a metaphor
a metaphor in a metaphor
I’m like 25% funny and 85% bad at math
No sympathy for rapists, no sympathy for abusers, no sympathy for those who side with them. No excuses for their behavior, no justifications, no exceptions.