Okeydokey, before anyone flips out. Yes, I'm a feminist, and yes, I'm in a happy relationship with a man. Yes, I'm a divorced mother, and no, I never saw a fraction of the court-ordered child support, and yes, I have kind of an axe to grind about that, and yes, I understand that men also get stiffed by noncustodial moms who don't pay child support (although at nowhere near the same ratio, if only because children statistically end up with their mothers more often, in non-nuclear family arrangements). No, I don't hate men, and no, I'm not blind to the many, many men at our pro-choice rallies and yes, I am grateful to those men and no, being a feminist does NOT mean holding men in contempt (for me) and no, I don't think all men watch football or fart and scratch in public rooms of the house or slurp beer or don't support their wives, mothers, sisters, girlfriends, and daughters. Yes, I shave my legs and armpits at least twice a week (they don't grow fast).
And yes, I love my husband, who is my partner, too, and yes, I love and respect and appreciate his support.
And one more yes: my heartfelt applause to all the unsung heroes out there, the dads who never skip a payment, who go out of their way to remember birthdays and Christmases, who don't skip visitation or phone calls, who reach across the distance with their exes and continue to parent in the most loving and responsible way possible. My hat is off and my knee is bent, my head is bowed and my heart is filled with love for you dads. I see, firsthand, the heartbreak that you have spared your children. I wish mine had been spared the same.
That said:
Safety belt on? Helmet? Tongue firmly in cheek? Okay, blast-off.
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