That is not my handsome husband. That is not my paid cash for a four-door car. Those are not my well-behaved twins. This half a dozen assortment of creatures... are not my beautiful pets. He wanted a featureless mannequin, a corpse bride with little expression. No sequins. See, he wanted somethin' easy. Like blonde apple-cherry pie Like microwaved mayo in a micro with a side of tall skinny cool pink lemonade. A girl, too stupid to argue or realize her own way. He not only expected but required her to be happier than him, dumber than him, more lovely, less threatening, a chronic cheerleader to his ego and packer of school lunches for his offspring. He has this "logic" because if she looks like a sexpot then she must be a pot for sex, and I'm sure sir you'll propose more than rabbit within your rabid stew. Maybe, Your Children Will Genuinely Love You
Where conspiracy theories meet feminist theories. (And sometimes there's poems).