Happy Maternal-Oppression Day!

Today is the most important of all holidays!

Today is the day that we feminists simultaneously exalt and pity our mothers in a (hopefully) mutually-reinforced ritual of sorrow and righteous anger.

I pity my mother so much. Last year at this time, I remember how we stood in the kitchen and had a little disagreement. She pretended to be horrified when I gave her sage advice to secretly poison the oppressor who calls himself my “Dad”.

“What’s wrong with you?” she snapped, clearly too brainwashed to see the merit of my idea. “Ever since we sent you away to the most distant college we could afford, you’ve gotten weirder and weirder.” She clucked her tongue and shook her head with obviously-feigned exasperation.

Despite a façade which would convince any non-feminist, I could see through her fog of denial that she secretly wanted me to go-ahead with the idea. If only she wasn’t too oppressed to do it herself.

“Of course you think I’m wierd, mom!” I protested, stomping my tiny feet and jutting-out my lower lip. “You don’t know how enslaved you are in this comfortably well-appointed suburban house which you are free to leave at any time. But mark my words– ONE DAY you will smack-up against the edifice of Patriarchy and realize how right that I am. It’s all there in my Gender Ed 101 textbook. In the meantime, just let me dump a few brands of drain cleaner into dad’s Bloody Mary and cover-up the taste with tabasco…”

She sent me to my room after that. I swear, she doesn’t know what’s best for her. There are signs of hope bubbling under the surface nonetheless: I once heard her mutter that she wished she’d had an abortion when she was pregnant with me. At heart she is a womyn like myself.

But I’m not giving up. I know I shall convert her one day…