When we were last in South Africa, I used the most amazing toilet ever (we saw other stuff, too, like penguins and spring bok and geckos. And yet, this post is about toilets). I also used one of the weirdest toilets ever. It was in the house we rented in Camps Bay, which is not too…
Later, when we talked about that dinner, we spoke with reverence of many things. The sky. The lanterns. The food. But none of these could hold a candle to the bathroom. We could not stop praising that tremendous toilet. That remarkable restroom. That lavish lavatory. That wondrous … wiz palace? (Sorry.) Which is not to say that…
Sometimes my mother will say or do something so strange or utterly clueless, that all I can do is pull her onto my lap (for my mother is very wee and weighs nothing, and the genes that cause that are apparently recessive, damn it), gently take her face into my hands and whisper, “You would…
– I have a bladder the size of a chipmunk’s. No, no – stop praising me on how amazing this is. How it’s so ladylike and really quite Hollywood to have a bladder so svelte and small. That Angelina’s or Gwyneth’s is probably barely bigger than my own. Because despite how glamorous it sounds, let…
Tales of Food, Feminism, and Fury
by Geraldine DeRuiter
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