Rage against the machine

QUICKIE: Vincenzo to Dad tonight: “What are you doing to my penis?”


The babysitter just came up and asked, “So…is Shiny Dumptruck a girl?”  “Yes,” I answered without hesitation.  “All Vincenzo’s toys and animals are girls.”


It’s true.  Anytime anything comes in the house and becomes an object of endearment, be it a football-clad bear or an army tank, I deem it a “she.”  It’s always bothered me when we go to the zoo and all the parents are all, “Look at the gorilla/hippopotamus/komodo dragon.  Isn’t HE funny/big/scary?”  Just because something is ugly or hairy or rude doesn’t mean it’s automatically male.  (No offense, males.  Or no offense females?)  And what’s up with calling cows and chickens “he?”  Show me a man who can make milk or eggs and I will change my whole stance and call everything a he from here on out.  The she-man who just had a baby doesn’t count, btw.


I know I’m just one person out of a billion.  But unless an animal or a dump truck has either a mane or very prominent anatomy, we’re going to keep on with our little charade.  Yes, I know I’m also wrong 50% of the time, but in my world, two wrongs sometimes do make a right.  At least when it’s me making the wrongs.


P.S.  To make my pronoun war complete, ladybugs are always “he.”


Fridge Raid!

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