I had a pretty intensely fun, long weekend. Why can’t fun drag on like boring stuff does? Fun just ends way too quickly. I’m really against that.
Another thing I’m against is getting in fights with your friends on Facebook. I know I’m against it, because I’ve done it. That is NOT fun. Facebook fights drag on for.ev.er.
You might find this hard to believe, but I’m not much of a fighter. This weekend I had to turn my head away when my sisters told the waitress their fish was bad. I don’t like conflict.
It’s just that I am SO mad. I’m so mad about the war on women. I’m so mad that women and young girls are being held captive by evil terrorists. I’m so mad that men are trying to force their will on women, controlling what they do and what they wear. I’m so mad that these men are committing violence against these women. I want to help.
I told my Facebook friends that I saw a woman in the store wearing a burqa that covered everything, even her eyes. Her husband walked slightly ahead, wearing street clothes. I told my Facebook friends that I wanted to deliver a karate chop to this man. Some of my Facebook friends were not on board with this.
Here is what I learned. Some women choose to wear the burqas that cover their entire face, even their eyes. I didn’t know that; that certainly changes things. This fact surprised me. I have a hard time comprehending why a woman would make this choice. I thought that out of solidarity, any woman would refuse. Turns out I have very little influence here, which is surprising.
The other part of my plan that seemed a little shady to some friends (other than assaulting an innocent man), was the part where I tried to cure violence with violence. I think someone had some silly logic like, we keep trying that. It isn’t working.
Where does that leave me? I guess not even one teensy weensy little karate chop will help. I’ve been practicing too. So, that’s disappointing.
I did get some ideas from my friends on how to help victimized women locally. That was a good thing. Sadly, it appears as if there is not one practical way I can physically help the women and girls in captivity who I read about last week. Except pray. We can always pray.
I asked my family if we could pray for these women before our costume party. Here’s what that looked like:
I think praying women everywhere should keep praying. Our sisters need us. Oppression sucks.
It’s hard to do normal life after reading about real girls who want to kill themselves to escape their torturers. But, that’s what you have to do. It seems like the whole world should be rushing to these girls’ aid. But, I guess we can’t. I’m not sure why, but it just isn’t done.
I have been told that there are any number of horrific things happening to people all over the world at any given moment. What would happen to society if we just dropped everything and helped all these people? Probably nothing good, other than they’d all be helped. I mean, where’s the benefit?
All this human suffering is making me bitter.
I did carry on this past weekend. I put the sadness away, and had some fun.
I hosted a bridal shower at my house for my nephew and his lovely new bride. She’s such a sweet young woman, and she also has great ideas. She asked us to wear costumes. I’m going to recommend this to other new brides.
You know that feeling you get when you’re going to a party, and one person is the common denominator, while the rest of the guests are strangers to one another? There is usually this awkward tension in the air. That tension does not exist when people are dressed like cat burglars and Minnie Mouse.
I haven’t hosted anything at my house in a while. I like having people over, but it feels like I’m in an era of life where finding time to host parties is extra hard. I’m in an era where finding time to get milk feels like a victory. Party hosting seems unattainable.
I used to host parties a lot. I liked it, and was getting sort of good at it. I have lots of fancy dishes and decorations left over from those days.
For this party, I looked at a beautiful silver, rectangular bowl I have and tried to remember the pretty way I used to display it. Now the bowl just sits empty on my buffet. I take that back. There was one, yellow air-soft bullet at the bottom of the bowl from a fight the boys must have had. I’m not gonna say that bullet wasn’t pretty. I just thought it needed something else.
I did my best. I fluffed and polished. I threw some cute pumpkins in that silver bowl. When I was finished everything looked medium to okay. It didn’t really matter anyway, because I knew my sisters were about to descend upon my house. Once that happens, I can go play checkers. I’m the baby, and lucky for me old habits die hard.
Those women were like a party producing tornado. I know just the tricks to get out of work with these ladies too.
Me: I forgot I have to do the potatoes.”
Older sister: Oh, I’ll do it.
Me: Shoot. I meant to vacuum the front room before everyone got here.
Another Older Sister: Oh, I can. Where do you want the vacuum when I’m done?
Me: I wish I would have remembered to get ice.
Another Older Sister: I can run and get it. I’ll be right back.
Me: My shoulders are really tight. I was hoping to get a massage before this thing.
So, maybe they’re not ALWAYS there for me. It’s okay. I still think they’re pretty great.