the dog...

in his new bed.

it's half-empty!

The mothership and I went to ikea today, after dropping off BoyWonder's cricket and hockey bags at one of those storage companies. I love ikea, but hate it too. It's full of the most wonderful, useless stuff - ok, some of it is dreadfully useful, but that's the stuff I don't need. The useless stuff is what I want. I ended up buying another dog bed for Indigo - this wonderful soft donut shape, covered in fun fur with legs and a tail - because I'm trying to persuade him to sleep more on the floor.

But, pleasantly - and surprisingly enough - the store was quiet. There were blissfully few people, few screaming babies (except for a few delightful preschoolers who needed putting on a lead). I know ikea is a family friendly shop - they're proud of it. And I do like kids (well, most of the time... except for the screamy ones, and preferably if I know them) but sometimes it's just so lovely to not have to dodge prams and toddlers.


Other thoughts... I've become addicted to wardrobe_remix on flickr. I love looking at the pictures; they're far more inspiring than the skeletal identikit models in the magazines, and show a gorgeous range of styles and ideas than you see just walking along the street. It's driving me to be more creative about what I wear, but also reminding me why I don't read women's magazines regularly.

*shock*

You Are 98% Feminist

You are a total feminist. This doesn't mean you're a man hater (in fact, you may be a man). You just think that men and women should be treated equally. It's a simple idea but somehow complicated for the world to put into action.

Are You a Feminist?

big bad feminist

Feminism isn't the easiest thing to define. Well, it is. It's belief in the equality of men and women. But feminism means different things to different people - ultimately, feminism is what you make it and what it means to you.

I suppose I'm writing this for two of my friends - well, not specifically for them, but they inspired it. They don't - won't - define themselves as feminists, and so I asked Ellie why. Her answer was simple - because she would happily stay at home and be a housewife. Now, I define myself as a feminist, and I think that's fair enough. If she's happy to do that, then she can, with my blessing. What I don't believe is that women should be housewives first and foremost - I believe that women should have the choice to become housewives or executives or air hostesses or authors or doctors. Whatever they want to do. Some women wouldn't be happy staying at home - I know my mother wasn't, and I don't think I would be. I'd always seek something else to do. But if you are, and that is what you want to do - then that's cool.

For me, feminism is about choice, and the right to make those choices yourself from the same options as everyone else, regardless of the labels that society has otherwise given you. Women should be able to walk down the street without getting whistled, hooted or shouted at. Women should be listened to, their opinions given equal weight. We are not decorative objects for other people's amusement, but intelligent self-determining individuals. Women should be paid the same as men, considered on merit rather than looks or the likelihood of them having kids in the next five years.

Feminists aren't hairy-legged man-hating bra-burning militant pagan emasculating lesbians. Ok, some feminists are gay, or non-religious. Some feminists probably do hate men. I mean, just because I haven't met any genuine man-hating feminists, doesn't mean they don't exist? When I began to identify myself as a feminist, I didn't turn my boyfriend and my razor in at the door. I kept my bras, my tottering spike heels, my make-up, even my sense of humor. Militant feminists are a minority - the most militant most feminists get is going on a Take Back The Night march or taking a self-defence course. And, if you look at the definition of militant, engaging in a peaceful protest rally is hardly posing a threat to others.

Feminists don't hate children. We don't kill babies for sexual gratification (no matter what this guy might say). Feminists aren't pro-abortion, they're pro-choice. As a feminist, as an individual, I believe every woman should have access to safe, legal abortions, whether for medical or social reasons. But more than that - I believe abortion should be rare. Everyone should have proper sex education - and starting young. It shouldn't be taboo to talk about preventing unwanted pregnancy or STDs or the right to say no or what constitutes rape. But it's no use just talking about it - everyone should have access to contraception, whether that's the pill, condoms, or a coil; it's your body, you have the right to say what is done with it.

Feminists come in all different shapes and sizes, and they believe a wide range of things. But what it boils down to: women and men are the same, and they should have the same choices and opportunities. That's it. Really.



linky: "Yes, you are"

Daphne

It's a strange thing to think that she's been gone nearly a year. I know people will say "she was only a bunny, they don't live long", and I tell myself that, but... Daphne way my bunny. My baby, my friend and confidante and comfort. I got so used to waking up to her bouncing on the bed by my head before climbing onto my desk - she knew that was the one place she wasn't allowed, and therefore the one thing guaranteed to get me up. So used to hearing her thump and charge up and down the halls, sniffing everything, playing throw with her ball or my shoes or a book or whatever caught her attention and clearly needed a good chewing.

She was such a foul-tempered thing when I first brought her home. She would chase T out the room, bite anyone foolish enough to put a hand under the sofa, snort and hiss and snarl like the Killer Bunny itself. But part of her was always loving, sudden moments where she's sit happily in my lap, or by my feet on the floor. She had to know where I was; she became my shadow, and I couldn't move without her taking notice.

I cried when she first kissed me. I was lying on the floor, desperately trying to communicate with my cantankerous bundle of fluff and spite, nearly asleep... when she decided that I wasn't so bad, after all. And that my hair was tasty too - so she licked my face, thoroughly. It became a routine; I'd sit, she'd hop up beside me and lick my hand... and I'd stroke her ears. We did it every night.

It's still quiet without her; literally as well as metaphorically. She was a noisy so-and-so, really. Full of bounce and adventure - I can remember her climbing all over my bed, along the back of the sofa - getting everywhere and into everything.

And then, a few days after we moved, she became ill. She lost her appetite, and lost her will to explore. She would sit in my lap, ignoring Pete completely, but lying so still and heavy. She faded over a few days, but she would still try to kiss me, even when she couldn't breathe properly, when I was syringing fluid down her and she would still try to fight back.

I don't know how long it will take for me to really get used to her not being around. Somehow, I don't think I ever will.