Happy Easter, those of you who celebrate it! I’m spending the day desperately plugging away at a psych essay (gross, but necessary), but here’s a little something for you anyway. Oh, and as of two days ago in the midst of a fit of procrastination, I have twitter again. I mostly made it to kick my arse into gear and keep up with current events for debating (and life), but if your idea of a cruisy evening’s procrastination is watching me make a complete fool of myself in fewer than 140 characters (especially during Q&A) then feel free to add yourself to my meagre follower count of three.
Now, without (much) further ado, the anecdote. Warning for food mention. Also a necessary note that I write this up in good humoured jest. While the events are true and mostly verbatim, and are symptomatic of wildly problematic societal standards, I do love my grandparents, and also am well (and gratefully) aware that these are minor and amusing grievances, not serious problems. Checking my privilege at the door. Okay, here goes:
The Setting: Easter family gathering, conservative grandparents and good food abound – you know the drill, most likely.
* * *
[enter Sam, in search of food]
Grandmother [squinting suspiciously]: Is your hair shorter?
Sam [dashingly sexy, sporting bed hair with texture not unlike that of an adorable baby chicken]: Yes.
Grandmother [despairingly]: Why?!
Sam [set phasers to sass]: That’s generally what happens when one gets a haircut.
Grandmother: [unimpressed noises, some tutting for emphasis]
Sam: [eating food, quite content]
Grandmother [as though her opinion actually matters]: I don’t like it.
Sam [nonchalant]: Okay.
Grandmother: You had such beautiful long hair.
Sam: And now I have beautiful short hair.
Grandmother: It’s hideous.
Sam: You wound me.
[enter Sam's brother, who has had an even more recent and drastic haircut.]
Sam: Look, Pat’s hair is shorter too!
Grandmother: He’s a boy.
Sam: hELP! I’M BEING OPPRESSED!
[amused snickers from bystanders]
[just kidding, no-one ever listens to me]
Grandfather [coming to Sam's defence]: It’s more convenient for her. She doesn’t have to brush it now.
Grandmother [murderous look at Sam's tousled hair, raises eyebrows]: Yes, she does.
Grandmother: You brought this on yourself. Now, have a pastry. [holds out tray imperiously]
* * *
And with that (truly delicious pastry), the matter was put aside for another ten minutes. By the time I’ve finished writing this blog, I’m sure levels of grandparental sass will have been replenished, and we’ll go another few rounds. Inane and petty societal standards and gender norms are firmly intact, I regret to report.
Those of you who are similarly spending Easter with your extended families, I hope you survive the day without too many of your stylistic and lifestyle choices being tutted and passive-aggressively sighed at. (And to those of you having a much tougher time of it, my sympathy and apologies).
Have a fantastic Easter/Easter break (those of you who have one!). I’m off to a debating tournament in Melbourne tomorrow, so you may or may not hear from me soon, depending on whether or not I get lost at the airport.