The other day my wife Rachelle Maynard posted this on a Buy, Sell and Trade Facebook group she belongs to:
LIKE NEW BLUNDSTONES 7.5 Mens or 9.5 Womens
$150
Don’t spend $250 on a new pair of Blundstones your husband will never wear because they’re just a little bit hard to slip on. No. Don’t be angry he’s only worn them 3 times and doesn’t truly appreciate the kindness of your gift. So just buy these instead. They are in near perfect shape. They come with a box and everything. Pick up near Bloor and Spadina.
Comments:
Sahara: Forgive me, but your husband sounds like a bit of an asshole.
Anne: Nice colours!
Emily: I agree with Sahara, your husband sounds like a real piece of work. He better look like Daniel Craig is all I can say! LOL!!
Sahara: I once heard about a husband who took his wife to a Lord of the Rings movie marathon on their wedding anniversary! He thought if she saw them all at once, in order, then she would love them like he did. CAN YOU EVEN IMAGINE?
Dina: I would cut a bastard if he did that to me on our anniversary.
Betty: My husband is also an asshole. #MeToo
Stephanie: Sounds like he has pretty small feet! LOL!!
Emily: Men are trash.
Jen: You know, I have absolutely no doubt of my innate superiority to my husband, and pretty much all men, in fact, yet I still end up feeling oppressed. How the hell does that end up happening?
Nicki: Smash the Patriarchy!
Robynne: Would it be possible to come by on Tuesday around 4:00 to have a look?
Elena: My husband is also a jerk. #MeToo
Misha: I started to notice that whenever I walked into the room my husband would slam his laptop shut. He said it was fantasy hockey. Turns out he meant porn. Dirty, disgusting porn #MeToo
Treena: I would dump his small-footed ass. You can do better Rachelle. You deserve better. We all do.
Lisa: I swear to God, my husband can’t even figure out how to work the remote. Why are they all so fucking incompetent??? Why do we have to do EVERYTHING??? #MeToo
Beth: The fucker doesn’t deserve boots.
Maria: Make him walk barefoot in the snow. #MeToo
]]>These are the text messages I sent my wife Rachelle on Monday:
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Me: Yep.
Me: Dropped Jones off at daycare and am now at the polling station getting ready to cast my vote for mayor!
Me: No.
Me: Mayor McCheese is not on the ballot.
Me: It is a shame. Not only is he VERY experienced, but he’s also delicious.
Me: I agree, we do underestimate taste when it comes to appraising our candidates.
Me: I think Doug Ford would have been a buttery mayor, like wagyu beef.
Me: John Tory? The current mayor? Beef jerky.
Me: He looks creepy. Desiccated and plastic, like if you bred a dry roasted peanut with a Ken doll. Looks like somebody from Blue Rodeo who suddenly got really, really old!
Me: No.
Me: No, that’s not a “dig” at Jim Cuddy.
Me: All I’m saying is that his opponent, Jennifer Keesmaat, has aged pretty well.
Me: What?
Me: Look, all I mean is that she looks as good now as she did 15 years ago. Let’s smash the patriarchy and vote for her!!
Me: Oh.
Me: Well, when you put it like that I guess it does sound a bit like I’m going to smash the patriarchy by voting for a woman I think has aged well.
Me: And you think that’s wrong?
Me: Okay.
Me: Well, in my defence I knew JK back in the day.
Me: Didn’t I tell you?
Me: But look, I also like her transit plan. Very smart. And let me assure you, she’s more than just another pretty face! You should vote for The Keezer!
Me: A nickname I had for her.
Me: Oh, that was so long ago.
Me: Lava Life, I think.
Me: We only went out on one date.
Me: Went to Maine for a long weekend.
Me: Yeah, I guess it was a three day date.
Me: What did we do?
Me: Well, she’s a HUGE Stephen King fan so we went on a tour of his house in Bangor.
Otherwise, we just drank some wine, walked the beaches, talked policy. Stuff like that.
Me: Hunh!
Me: Hadn’t thought about that, but yeah, Stephen King’s house is my screen saver.
Me: Look, I hadn’t even met you yet!
Me: Rest assured, if you were running for mayor I would vote for you!
Me: You would organize the hell out of this city!
Me: You really would.
Me: And I LOVE the idea of making Toronto a Sanctuary City for all the lost animals of the world.
Me: You would be a way better mayor than JK.
Me: I would be a Russian bot for you.
Me: I would lie to congress for you.
Me: You wouldn’t believe how many laws I would break for you political ambition!!
Me: People would be screaming at me every goddamn time I tried to eat out. You can bet your bottom dollar on that.
Me: It’s true. You are the fire with which I burn. You have all of me, my love, you always have and always will.
Me: Yes.
Me: Absolutely. You have my word.
Me: I will change my screen saver.
]]>Well, the other day my mother actually received this letter from Margaret Atwood:
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December, 6th, 2017
bärb/
noun
noun: barb; plural noun: barbs
-
- a sharp projection near the end of an arrow, fishhook, or similar item, angled away from themain point so as to make extraction difficult.
2. a cluster of spikes on barbed wire.
3. a deliberately hurtful remark.
Dear Barb:
Please forgive me for being so informal as to use your first name. I can see that you’re not just appropriately (refer to above prolegomenon) named, but that the Murray line carries very excitable genes, and I certainly don’t want to offend you or any of the other members in your easily inflamed tribe.
Let me first thank you for your apology concerning the alarming behaviour of your 50-something son, and the thoughtful inclusion of hand sanitizer with your letter. You are right, hand sanitizer does make for a nice, affordable stocking stuffer. Thank Heavens for Shoppers Optimum points, eh, Barb?
It’s interesting to note that the word “barb” is derived from Latin and Old French words for “beard.” The patriarchy has a deep reach, Mrs. Murray, a very deep reach. For instance, I wonder why your fully grown, almost elderly son, does not feel the need to apologize for himself to a respected woman he’s been publicly berating? Why would his mother have to do it?
Could it be that Michael, an archetypically mediocre white man,
was born into a world that was made for him, a world where women existed as bit players present only to serve his narrative? And then, with all competition smothered, with the entire force of a white, phallocentric history pushing him forward, Michael, armed with every conceivable advantage, became the author of one very unsuccessful vanity-published book.
That’s what he did.
He did not become an astronaut, he became a fantasy baseball enthusiast. And as he ascended to the status of fantasy baseball enthusiast and nothing else, he fully believed that all his “achievements” were due to his unique genius, and all failures a conspiracy of invisible, unknowable enemies.
Does that sound about right?
But it’s not your fault, Barb. It’s the world we were born into, and if you want to learn more about why your son is an asshole, you should tune in to Bravo on April 30th to watch the award-winning, crisply produced recreation of my uncannily predictive dystopian novel, A Handmaid’s Tale. It stars Elisabeth Moss, whom you might have seen on the cover of some of the magazines you buy at the mall.
Margaret Atwood
PS: Von all den Kreaturen, die auf der Erde atmen und sich bewegen, wird nichts gezüchtet, das schwächer ist als der Mensch.
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