I won't be worrying my pretty little head about that.

I'm probably late for the party, due to being insufferably fashionable, but I was browsing the nets the other day and came across this quote by the rather wise Pat Robertson.

"Feminism is a socialist, anti-family political movement that encourages women to leave their husbands, kill their children, practice witchcraft, destroy capitalism and become lesbians"

And it got me thinking. I tried to stop as I wished to avoid the unbecoming wrinkles that were undoubtedly forming on my brow, but I couldn't help it. It sounded so enticing. I imagined myself in a coven, engaging in voluptuous acts with the ladies and drinking the blood of newborns. I am ashamed to say, I was tempted.

I luxuriously stretched out my long slim legs, utterly lost in fantasy, then it struck me. My perfectly smooth, hairless legs would be an affront to this society. I began to think I wouldn't belong in such a place. I would have to let the hair grow out dark and spiky, become surly and hateful, and be ugly.

And I realised how absurd my little dream had been. I was not ugly, and thus not one of them. For why would a pretty, feminine lady like myself have any use for such a radical concept? I put it out of my head and went back to dusting.

These so called "women" are bitter. They have been shunned by men all their lives, quite rightfully due to the unfortunate arrangements of their features, and rather unfairly take it out on men. They form unattractive, unsuitable for men's arousal, partnerships with women. They need to go out in the world and fend for themselves, making them hard and unfeminine. They resent all men and do everything they can to bring them down.

But I can get a man. A man who will take care of me, provide for me and give me the status of being Mrs, so long as I cook, keep the house respectable, orally pleasure him, and give him sons in the near future. I can even have a little job, as long as it doesn't take me away from my home duties or emasculate him by being more important or well paying than his.

He will protect me from being raped or beaten, by anybody else. So long as I'm faithful, obedient and agreeable, and am a comfort for him after a hard day at work.

I can be assured that he will always be there for me. Of course I must take care of myself, keep my figure, my skin and hair looking nice. If I age gracefully, he will just keep his younger woman on the side. I will keep my man forever,

So those "women's libbers" can keep their "rights" and their "education" and their "careers" and their "independence" and their "property" and their "equality" and their "interests" and their "self respect" and their "decisions" and their "opportunities" and their "lives". Who needs it.

Soon I'll have to start drinking the blood of virgins.

Damn, again? This seems to happen every year or so. 32 is kind of old for a cat. Where will it end?

It's strange, I don't feel this age. And I certainly don't look a minute over 31 do I?

Ok, I'm cheating. That was taken a few weeks ago, but you know what I mean.

I shall be celebrating, kind of. I'll have a lunch with somebody, somewhere nice. What do you mean stay out all night and get roaring drunk? I'm now a mature, almost mid-30s woman, I don't do that anymore. Well I do, but I won't be tonight. I have my reasons but I'm not telling them.

I remember this day 2 years ago, as I was expelled from my youthful vibrant 20s and thrust into the more grownup, responsible, lassitude ridden 30s, and exactly nothing changed in my life so I probably shouldn't expect anything now. It's an excuse to have a pleasant afternoon in a nice but not overpriced establishment though.

Of course, according to some people, I'm just an old hag.

The two key things that too many women fail to grasp with regards to relationships is that men simply don't think like women, and that the sell-by date is about 32 when it comes to dating men your own age. You don't have to like these things, but you do have to deal with their reality. As with gravity, you ignore it at your own peril.

Does that mean that from now on I can go out at night and actually be left alone for a while? It would at least cut down the numbers a little, excluding the men who are my own age or younger than me. Of course I still have to deal with the old guys, damn!

Actually that's all a lie, I never go out anywhere, so I never get anyone trying to pick me up. I'm too old for that shit. Fortunately my boyfriend is older than me so I'm safe there at least for now.

Of course, this statement is about the least offensive guy that this fuckwit has ever said. Read the link if you dare. It's all about how rape isn't all that bad and most bitches are lying about it anyway, or something like that. So if you're inclined to ever commit murder, have the means, and live anywhere near wherever backwater this guy currently pollutes, please read it and then get to ridding the world of some uneccessary rubbish, please.

I have some suggested methods of execution if you're interested, but email me about it. I don't want to put it on the blog. Trying to keep up the sweet little pussycat image you know.