Trousers but no cake on the coed submarine

Today I was introduced to the funny/frightening delights of Conservapedia, which touts itself as a trustworthy version of Wikipedia. It loves Jesus, John McCain, and fighter jets, and hates the gays, Gardasil, and Jilly Cooper (who it exclusively reveals was an active member of S.C.U.M.). It has some particularly useful tips on how to spot a femmynazi:

“Specifically, a modern feminist tends to:

• believe that there are no inherent differences between men and women and that all inequality is the result of men oppressing women
• oppose chivalry and even feign insult at harmless displays of it
• view traditional marriage as unacceptably patriarchal
• shirk traditional gender activities, like baking
• support affirmative action for women
• detest women who are happy in traditional roles, such as housewife, and especially dislike those who defend such roles
• prefer that women wear pants rather than dresses, presumably because men do
• seek women in combat in the military just like men, and coed submarines
• refuse to take her husband’s last name when marrying^“

There are also some very sane and measured opinions on th’abortion:

“In Romania, abortion was illegal under two decades of rule by the dictator Nicolae Ceausescu, and the country enjoyed one of the lowest breast cancer rates in the entire world during that time.”

There is also a very good page explaining a propensity to a variety of exotic crimes and misdemenors extant in academia. They revel in Barack Obama, naturally.

Nylon Neurosis

Tights are an awful burden. On one hand, summer should render them de trop. On t’other, my legs are the unwholesome shade of reconstituted ham and develop a charming mottled patina in the chill rain of June. On my extraneous third hand, I should love my legs as they are and am letting down the sisterhood through reactionary insistance on sheathing them in yummy beige nylon. But hose I will have and its awfully shame-making, especially as they ladder so fast- one always seems to be getting entangled in a bicycle or becoming too enthusiastic in scratching an insect bite.

Suffice to say they need recycling. One can make a grass head, but they are creepy and weird. I have a vague and unpleasant memory of my grandmother keeping old bits of soap in a tight leg tied to the sink as some kind of vile handwashing device. It’s not the war anymore and those two unspeakable ideas will only recycle about a third of a week’s destroyed tights. Therefore I was delighted to discover that an interweb based tights emporium will deal with the blasted objets for you, by shipping them off for use on a fistula ward in Ethiopia. It’s all a bit patriarchal Victorian charidee, but it gets rid of the bloody things and fistula is debilitating and horrid. The tops of the tights are used to hold bandages in place, and the legs are woven into rugs.

The address to which to send your shredded hosiery is:

Ethopia Tights Appeal
Tightsplease
2nd Floor Albion Court
18 – 20 Frederick Street
Hockley
Birmingham
B1 3HE

Also, the word pantyhose makes me gag.