Tag Archives: illustrated
Is your husband home?
When people ask me ‘is your husband home?’ (or variations on that theme), I correct them in the same irritating way I’ll hiss ‘Ms’ if asked whether I’m a ‘Miss or Mrs’. My partner and I aren’t married, and I used to think my initial burst of frustration when people asked for my ‘husband’ was because I didn’t like the assumption that all couples have to get married at some point. It’s not really that, though: what’s frustrating is how often I am asked – or expected – to defer to my male partner. As if he’s the CEO in our relationship, and I am merely his secretary.
What does it mean to be sexually compatible?
Sexual compatibility isn’t always about liking the same things. It’s nice to discover that your whims and lusts match up sometimes, when you both fancy exactly the same kind of shag. But to me, being sexually compatible is less about always wanting the same thing and more about being intrigued by the other person’s kinks and quirks.
‘Super Seducer’, and the myth of the mysterious woman
Last week I watched an hour-long YouTube video of a man playing a game called ‘Super Seducer’, because I am ever keen to unravel the mystery of men. What ARE men, exactly? If I believe the creator of ‘Super Seducer’, the answer is that they are absolute twats.
Chivalry is dying, but that’s not a bad thing
If you could put one thing from the world into ‘Room 101’, banishing it forever from the planet, what would you choose and why? There’s plenty I’d be tempted to go for, I am a person who gets angry about a lot of things: plastic cups, pear cider (it’s NOT FUCKING CIDER), or men on Twitter explaining my own bra to me. And that’s before you even get started on the important bits like war, poverty, and every political ad that’s ever been shown on Facebook. But there’s one particular concept that seems ready to disappear: chivalry. Chivalry is on the way out, and I won’t be sorry to see it go.
I’m horny and everything looks like fucking
I’m horny and so everything I see looks like fucking. The boots that are lying jumbled in the corner of my bedroom look like a quick, bent-over fuck over an office desk. The couple snogging on the corner look like fucking. The hot guy behind the bar at the local pub with his raised eyebrow and tight t-shirt: he always looks like fucking, but even more so today. I’d normally seethe about the guys on the train playing music loudly from their tinny phone speakers, but they look like fucking right now too.