Memo to Fathers of the World
Dear Fathers,
When you are looking after your kids, you are NOT baby sitting til your partner gets home. THEY ARE YOUR KIDS. Baby sitting is an activity engaged in by people who are not the primary caregivers.
No, seriously, listen to me. If you are watching the kids and you see yourself as baby sitting, you have a BIG issue that needs to be solved. As their father you should be one of the primary caregivers. And you should see yourself that way. And looking after them? Shouldn’t be a temporary thing to give their mum a break, or time to do errands, or whatever other reason you have.
So, no more. You are not baby sitters. You are parents.
Love,
Whyimbitter.
PS. I hate adding these damn things, but I seem to have a lot of anti feminists over here these days, so here goes:
If you’re a father that doesn’t see looking after the kids as baby sitting, this post is not directed at you. Do not take offence, do not send me emails, I don’t care.
If you’re a person who has heard mothers use the same phrase and are about to get up in arms about this post being directed at fathers only, go start your own damn blog and direct something at those mothers. This post (like 90% of the blog) is inspired by my personal experience and this is what I wanted to say. And mothers cop enough shit off everyone to not get it in my space.
When will the arsehats at work stop talking?
Another overheard conversation.
Apparently there’s been a university study that has proven that the group most discriminated against in Australia is middle aged Anglo Saxon males with a mortgage.
Yes folks, apparently this poor privileged group is so trodden upon they are now the most discriminated in the country. Before I interrupted this delightful and intelligent conversation I heard the words ‘government benefits’. Now IF the study was looking for the group that receives the least amount of welfare money from the government, I’m not surprised it found this one. It’s highly possible that’s what the study was, and that the shock jocks simply turned the story into one about discrimination.
When I interrupted the conversation I asked for a link to the study. At this point teammate B* held his hands up and said “don’t shoot the messenger” with a stupid smirk on his face. I rolled my eyes and tried to get back to work, so he followed it up with “have you noticed I haven’t called you ‘babe’ or ‘sweetheart’ in a while?” Because that accomplishment its so deserving of cookies.
Replying that no, actually, I hadn’t noticed as I’ve been busy dealing with the death of a family member produced some satisfaction from the look on his face.
Arsehats.
*profile to come. Same teammate who started the ‘female sports’ conversation.
Overheard conversations make me bitter
I walked out of Aldi and straight into a conversation between three arsehats. When I walked out they were all laughing and then:
Arsehat 1: “She has three or four kids”
Arsehat 2: “Well at least you know she puts out!”
All three laughed.
These are times when I wish we had a feminist superhero to swoop in and knee these arsehats in the groin. Although I think such a superhero would die from overwork.
This is why I’m bitter.
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