Ladies and gentlemen, I am fifty years old. I'll be fifty-one in October. And while I make frequent self-deprecating reference to my age on and off the air, much to Mrs. Hard Starboard's consternation at times (since she's actually a little older than I am - I'm not specifying it, so I should still be safe), it's a number I'm not quite sure what to make of. Is fifty "old"? When I look in the mirror it doesn't seem that way as long as I don't put my glasses on. My hair is still its original color, although most of my beard isn't. I've got bags under my eyes, but they haven't squeezed my eyelids shut yet. I've got chin waddle, but it's not garishly noticeable other than from certain angles (including my recently renewed drivers license photo, much to my irritation).
One thing I can definitely say is that while my wife insists that "fifty isn't old!", I think we can all agree that half a century sure as shinola isn't young.
I thought about that when I saw this story, and especially the pic shown above. I tried to envision my late mom baking a batch of such cookies as anything but a horrible accident, like if I'd deliberately and meticulously run over each and every one of them with my bicycle. And I couldn't do it. Then I tried to imagine taking such a batch of cookies to grade school to share with my classmates. All I could see in my mind's eye was the inside of the principal's office (the dreaded Mr. Esser) and the phone call home. Which, in Wenatchee, Washington, in the early 1970s, would have been the inevitable consequence of bringing cunt cookies to the classroom.
But in 2015? It's some sort of quasi-lesbo feminist power statement or something. Either that or this mother wanted to be able to say that she got an entire bi-gender assemblage of children to eat her pussies:
This is a story about a woman who wanted her second grader to know that vaginas come in all shapes, colors and sizes. It’s also the story of really questionable parenting.
A mother with an interesting take on empowering female children, pseudonym Autumn, signed up to bring in baked goods to her child’s class.
But when Autumn arrived, tray in hand, every single cookie was shaped like a vagina…..
When the teacher told Autumn that the cookies were inappropriate, the mother began yelling about the importance of young children learning about sexuality. Autumn left the cookies and stormed out.
I'm ol....okay, "not young," folks, but I'm not too much so to have averted the onset of public school sex education. It had just been introduced when I, um, "came" through, and the first iteration of it was in the sixth grade, not second, and the genders were segregated for the occasion. And I can report to you with crystal clarity of memory that we eleven- and twelve-year-old boys giggled uncontrollably at the subject matter (which was a tell-tale indicator that most if not all of us had been walked through the "birds and bees" talk by our parents already - for me, two years earlier). Whereas my memory of second grade isn't nearly that indellible, but I do recall that the only time we ever thought about our genitalia was if one of us happened to wet the bed, or otherwise "have a little accident".
Why is it so confounding important to this woman for young children to "learn about sexuality" long before they're capable of understanding it? Beats me, unless her street corner gets lonely at night and she needs somebody to talk to, or back problems cut short her pole dancing career. Which leads me to wonder why she didn't also bring hot dogs to go with her cookies. I mean, why should the culinary pleasuring only go in one direction? Besides, the ketchup could have been an on-ramp to discussing menstruation at the same time.
But when "Autumn" fell back, panting and unfulfilled, she went all winter on the teacher's ass to get her "big O":
But later that night, the teacher got an email rant that will go down in history as one of the most anti-feminist pieces ever written. You have to read it to believe it, especially the part where Autumn wishes domestic violence on the teacher:A few questions and thoughts, if I may:
(1) What's wrong with being a teacher, Autumn? Shouldn't you be relieved that she didn't take the street corner you're trying to reserve for your daughter?
(2) What does premature, er, familiarity with human genitalia have to do with world leadership? That's what gave us the Clinton detour, after all.
(3) What about the penis? Isn't pleasing that important as well? I have always thought so. And it's not like both are mutually exclusive.
(4) You were shown a "lack of disrespect"? Then what's your, um, "beef"?
(5) If you want your coochie celebrated, why didn't you drop trou right in the classroom? Sounds like it's an embarrassment to you. In which case, might I suggest a little grooming? Besides, if second grade isn't too early for twat class, it isn't too early for beaver jokes, either.
(6) No, lady, you're the cliche.
(7) If any of you thought that there couldn't be any such thing as a misogynist feminist, now you know better.
Exit question: "Hey, kids! How about lunch at Hooters?"
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