Ageing British men, why are you on my television so much?
Ever since getting married last September, the `BABIES` question has reared its needy, bald head more times than I would care to count.
JUST KIDDING. I’m counting it like a feminist island castaway, notching it onto a wooden stick with the Swiss Army knife I carry in my back pocket at all times. Thirty Seven times I have been asked. Twenty One times by men. Nine times with the insinuation that it is my duty to have babies because Japan’s population is falling.
It is in no way my duty, nor that of any other Japanese girl / foreign lady married to a Japanese chap, to pop out the babies because of a duty to the Japanese government. The word `duty` makes me want to stab a whole bunch of men, starting with these two : Masuzoe the new Tokyo mayor who said that women are not suitable for important positions in politics and business because “for one week every month, their menstruation makes them incapable of making good decisions. Can you imagine a female prime minister who is menstruating making decisions about war?” , and the old Tokyo mayor Ishihara :
What lovely old men.
I am sure by now, everyone in the world knows that Japan is facing an unprecedented population crisis. The government is up in arms. Their solution last year was to use taxes to print books called `The Handbook on Life and Women` that would be given to every teenage girl and woman below the age of 40. The proposed book was meant to `enlighten women about the way their bodies work and encourage them that the best way to help Japan is to have babies before the age of 30.` Literally one of the most gag inducing plans I have ever heard, especially since there was apparently only one woman on the whole advisory panel, and there was no mention of how men were supposed to contribute to the parenting process - `tis up to the women to repopulate the earth while the men hunt and gather and nomikai it up. I personally would love a bunch of books written by men explaining how my body works. I would use them to start a bonfire to warm the cockles of a thousand feminist hearts. We would buy a bag of marshmallows and toast to our fertility. The handbook plan was opposed by Japanese women’s rights groups and eventually scrapped.
Let’s talk a little bit about POPULATION (after the jump - this post is long.)
Sometimes the best Valentines aren’t boyfriends. Don’t tell my boyfriend.
My version of the Waitangi Day pub crawl did not involve much crawling. But creepy Lorde was wonderful.
Obviously this is what you want to look at as you eviscerate a chicken.
The cardy-heart-pink day doesn’t impact me much, though I’m not so ignorant that I don’t understand that that’s because I’m really damn lucky. I love pretty much everything in my life at the moment though, and there’s only so much love to go around (even if it is all around), so focussing a bit on boyfriend (and myself) can’t hurt.
My Valentine’s Day?
- Cocktails in Shoreditch (one called Gingers Do It Better because I’m unfailingly vain);
- Dinner at the Tramshed whilst being leered at by a Damien Hurst cow fully submerged in blue water - a whole chicken and salted caramel fondue;
- A new necklace and a new book from someone who knows me well;
- A day off work and a run (featuring a child maybe about to be eaten whole by three squirrels) and a long bath and time spent to myself;
- Too much chocolate and just about the right amount of appreciation for the good things.
This is now inside my stomach.
Happy Valentine’s Day.
This is the most powerful thing you’ll see all day.