Micro-violations

When the universe attacks you… as a woman… in small but vicious ways. Ways that sting. Bastards.

All the men

Nothing like the picture of an important meeting, panel about the future, G20 conference, Brexit powwow with only a small smattering of women present – TWO MAXIMUM OR ELSE – to make you feel really vital to the process or that in some way your existence is being considered or that there will be meaningful change as opposed to the same stale viewpoint…

The loo hunt

This is not just because of the small bladder/pelvic floor situation. This is more, ‘Why the hell are the ladies loos miles away downstairs down dark murdery corridors?’ Do they want us all killed? Or to twist our ankles in heels? Or just to slightly wet ourselves to prove that we are not to be trusted?

The smear trial

There has been a lot about smear tests in the ether at the moment and, yes, a moment of discomfort is better than cervical cancer. BUT that does not mean you can’t find speculums ludicrous rusty, relics invented by a psychopath who experimented on slave women 200 years ago. It’s 2019, medical people. Time to take another look…

The light unfantastic

Let’s just say you’ve strayed into a high street shop against your better judgement. But you think there might be another boiler suit to try on. A better boiler than the 25 you already have tried on this season. But… what light from yonder changing room breaks? Not a flattering one, that’s for sure. Who is that consumptive octogenarian with lizard skin? Walk away from the light. Do not buy the boiler. You do not need it.

The phone paroxysm

You know when someone has your phone in the palm of their hand and it feels like that scene in Indiana Jones when the witch doctor is holding Harrison Ford’s heart. They are holding your phone (basically one of your vital organs) and you are wincing with the pain of it. And they know it. And they are toying with you. This is not okay.

You can’t park with us

Car parking spaces have got skinnier. Not content with the daily onslaught of body fascism, parking has now become a size-minefield. So you know you will barely be able to squeeze in. And if you do, when you get back from your errand, you will not be able to slip back into your car but instead have to climb, tuck, torture yourself into it. Possibly through the boot.

The water problem

You’ve watched the documentaries, cried at the turtle plight, donated to Blue Marine Foundation, and tried where possible to avoid single use plastic because you want karma on your side and you know that every breath you take you owe to the ocean. As a result you have snazzy water bottles that spend their days ruthlessly leaking over your stuff: car seats, bags, computers, tables. HOW HARD CAN IT BE?????? Evian bottles don’t leak. Sorry. Forget we said that.

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