The old woman and the wine jar

An old woman found an empty jar which had lately been full of prime old wine, and which still retained the fragrant smell of its former contents. She greedily placed it several times to her nose, and drawing it backwards and forwards, said,
“Oh most delicious! How nice must the wine have been, when it leaves behind in the very vessel which contained it so sweet a perfume!”

The moral of this story:
‘What memory clings around the instruments of our pleasure.’

This is not necessarily an autobiographical fable


I’ve got a crush

CURRENT RELATIONSHIP STATUS:

Sleeping in the corner of a queen-sized bed with a fidgety cat, a feral child who sleeps mostly after midnight and mangy old teddies. When my kids ask me if I want to get another pet I think, ‘well they’re messy and difficult to keep and I haven’t really looked for one, but eventually I may want a man around the house.’ I’ve got five minutes remaining on the libido setting of my biological clock, so when I discovered the Oxford Dictionary has a word husbandable (it means fit for cultivation) I realised I should hunt for a man who is already house trained. Our life is such an attractive proposition for a man to join in: yelling pre-menopausal financially stressed mother, swearing teenager who throws things at her sisters, smart arse middle child and mental youngest. Why wouldn’t a good-looking man want to move in and help me raise my kids?

I have a big crush on someone who is possibly unsuitable for me, but I can’t wait to find the next man I’m going to break up with. I have to admit I am jealous of women with husbands. No one tells you when you become a single mother you’ll resent happily married couples calling each other cute pet names. They are revolting. Single mothers find out fast who our friends are; some women think you want to steal their husbands. These are usually the women with husbands who aren’t worth stealing.

During my seven years as a single mum I’ve had a few imaginary husbands. My next husband will audition in front of a judging panel of my harsh girlfriends, I haven’t got a clue. One honest friend said, “You’re a bad picker, and if you insist on wearing make up you wore in 1995 you are responsible for the tragic men you pick up.”

Old age dating can be fun. Hormones can make us make babies with any old trash, but I don’t want to breed with my next husband. He doesn’t have to worry about me getting pregnant. I’m not going to write off his car or stop him going to work. I want him to go to work.

I’ve made so many attempts at finding dream stepfather I can’t remember all the men I’ve been out with. After looking for so long, I ended up in a meaningful long-term relationship with Mr Potato Head. I try to choose quality over quantity, I’d like to get back on the horse but I’m not desperate, I have a new motto: I don’t chase them, I replace them.


They don’t make ’em like they used to round two

Glamorous staying home mother duties with my kidlets means I’ve found more delightful feminist lyrics from modern music while trawling through the dark tunnels of the interwebs late at night:

You’re a discontented mother and a regimented wife

This song is addressed to a desperate mother who would like to trade her boring existence for the jet-setting hedonistic lifestyle the song’s narrator has led. Even though she has, “been to paradise,” she’s ultimately failed to find self-fulfillment, “I’ve never been to me.”

Because of course being a wife and mother is the only way a woman can be complete.

Paul McCartney wrote a lovely song about murder with a hammer, which John Lennon described as “more of Paul’s granny music.”

But when she turns her back on the boy
He creeps up from behind

Bang, bang, Maxwell’s silver hammer
Came down upon her head
Do do do do do
Bang, bang, Maxwell’s silver hammer
Made sure that she was dead

And it’s not just songs from the Paleolithic era that have life-affirming lyrics

Usher wrote a lovely song called I Don’t Mind
I’m just tryna cut her up, tryna bust a nut
Tryna take somebody bitch, turn her to a slut
Tryna fill my cup, tryna live it up
Throw some hundreds on that ass, walk her out the club

And also this delightful tune Ayo from the Australian visa-denied girlfriend basher himself Chris Brown

I’mma take her ass down when she bring her friend around
Fuck ‘em both like ayo
I’m a bougie ass nigga left the roof at home
We popping like ayo, ayo, ayo
But don’t be acting like I need you

Who is up for a feminist sing along?