Bad Sisters
I ran into my sister the other day on our street (yes, we live on the same street, just like you and your sister do) and while we were standing on the corner outside her building, talking about whether or not I should spend the summer learning MORE French ("yes, I should, no you shouldn't, should too, should not, you're stupid, YOU'RE stupid, shut up, YOU shut up, don't tell mom but gas to the Sault didn't really cost $2,000 last fall, I'm telling mom, okay - it cost $3,000, did not, did too") we noticed a woman tottering by in ridiculous high heels that she really couldn't walk in - not in a sexy way, anyway. Unless you go for the lumbering lummox look in a dame.
So we made fun of her to each other. Then another one tottered by, but in a simpy tip toeing girly girl kind of way like she was walking on eggs, and we made fun of her. Then another one, who had kind of a cowboy penguin thing goin' on clomped by and we made fun of her. Eventually, we got bored with our conversation and just made fun of women walking by in ridiculously high heels. It didn't feel sexist at all, either. It felt like fair play - for a while. Then it just felt like winning blogging awards or teasing kittens or poking holes in Mark Steyn's or David Warren's arguments so I said, "Well, time to go home and make a pizza from scratch for the kids". There are about 10 really good pizza joints within spitting distance of my apartment, but I like to make it from scratch because I'm THAT competitive.
