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Hard times in New York Town

19th century painting representing two men carrying another, in an exotic surrounding

We fucking need feminism


My husband and I go to the bank.

First annoying thing. The banker shakes my husband’s hand with a warm “hi”. I get neither the hi, nor the handshake. After a second of hesitation, I coldly reach out to shake his hand. He immediately shakes it with a sorry smile.

Second annoying thing: my husband and I both get the typical semi-paranoid questionnaire. But when I am being asked the question “who are you working for”, the banker immediately answers “so you’re unemployed”. Nothing allows him to make such an assertion. Not our conversation, and not the information previously given to the bank. This nerves me so much that I aggressively reply that no, I am self-employed, which is a half-lie.

We finish the questionnaire and leave macho-bank. My husband gently lectures me, having  noticed the half-lie. Hon, you shouldn’t be so passive-agressive about not working, it’s all right. I explain why I have been annoyed twice. He had not noticed anything. Worse, HE DOES NOT SEEM TO UNDERSTAND.

My current micro-depression finds its deep roots in the loss of my social status. I exist only through him, and through our children. I do not know how to explain this without yelling. So instead I forward him the link to Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s amazing talk.

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