I.
A priest is addressing the fifty or so people gathered at a cemetery as a coffin is being lowered into the ground.
“A precious soul departed our community and this earthly existence some two weeks ago. Remaining family members are in grief at having lost their father and husband, as Bill passed away at the much too young age of 72…”
“Give me that!” Aunt Hillary shouts as she grabs the microphone from the priest and pushes him off the platform. “Contrary to what this priest just claimed, we’re absolutely not in any grief whatsoever. I mean, who needs a husband, or really any man at all? Bah! Humbug! I intend to show that all of us can go on perfectly well without him,” she says, and has a look at the crowd. Yet she finds them dispersing as fast as they can, absolutely shocked at what she just did.
II.
Soon enough, Hillary has returned home, where a male service technician is installing her a new wireless network.
“Will you be needing more than 300 megabits, or is 802.11n fine with you, ma’am?” he asks.
“’Ma’am?’ Who are you calling ‘ma’am?’ Don’t you realize how disrespectful that is, you little twit?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be disrespectful. But anyway, what speed will you be requiring?”
“I’ve heard quite enough from you! Get out of my house right this instant, you nasty cis man!”
The guy rushes out of the house and takes his gear with him, leaving his crazed customer behind.
“Don’t you think you were a bit too hard on him, Hillary?” her housekeeper Jane asks.
“Hard on him? I was just getting started putting the brat in his place!”
“I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but I’m actually married to a man, and I can sort of empathize with that guy for not knowing how to address you.”
“MARRIED? YOU’RE MARRIED TO A MAN, OF ALL THINGS? THAT’S EVEN WORSE THAN HUMBUG! THAT…THAT…THAT’S…I DON’T KNOW WHAT!” she shouts in Jane’s face.
Jane walks away and gets on with her duties, while Hillary turns to a ledger she’s compiling over which people are P.C.-approved in today’s world, one she intends to send out as an official feminist communique. She whispers to herself as she jots down comments.
“Tom Byron? Sexist and full of prejudice, like all cis men.”
“Donald Lagrange? That’s the guy that suggested that traditional marriage has its benefits, I think…completely unacceptable apologetic for the patriarchy. Not P.C. at all.”
As she’s engrossed in her work, her cell phone rings, and she sees it’s an incoming call from her son Fred.
“Aunt Hillary,” she answers.
“Hello, Mother! It’s me, Fred!”
“I know that already. I’ve got a display on the phone, you know.”
“Okay, well…I was wondering if you wanted to come over and have dinner with me and my family tomorrow or something.”
“Eat dinner with you? Sorry, but that could be taken as a move away from my devotion to feminism. I mean, it’s not like you’ve been an ardent proponent.”
“You know I prefer to stay neutral on political issues.”
“Neutral is never acceptable on the big issues of our day, Fred. I simply can’t endorse you as a person, or your continued preservation of the nuclear family.”
“I still love you, Mom.”
“So you say, son. So you say,” she says, and hangs up.
As she’s just about to get back to her ledger, she hears the doorbell ring. Jane heads over to open it, finding two elderly men outside. A moment later, she has motioned them over to Hillary.
“Why, if it isn’t the esteemed Aunt Hillary!” one of them greets her.
“Yeah? What’s this about?” she counters.
“Well, me and Ronald here are working with the Children’s Advocacy Association, and we’re wondering if you’d be interested in putting your political weight behind us.”
“What does this association do?”
“We want to improve the health and well-being of our children.”
“But aren’t there foster families? And group homes?”
“Well, our research has concluded that children are highly dependent on their biological parents and their well-being increases tremendously with time spent with them.”
“But what about women’s careers? They can’t have careers if they’re expected to spend time with their children!”
“Look, we’re not saying that all women should drop their careers. Only that there should be more time available for parent-child bonding.”
“Bah! This ‘research’ sounds like some reactionary humbug you’ve just invented to fetter women to the kitchen! Get out before I call the police! AND I MEAN IT!” she shouts.
These men, too, hurry away.
Now it’s getting late, and Hillary decides to turn in for the night. As she prepares to open the drawer door, she finds the knob turning into a hideous face that startles her. Frightened, she sits down on her bed. Suddenly, she hears what appears to be chains being dragged across the floor, coming into her room. Even more startled, she turns to look.
“Ohh…ohh…Hillary,” the apparition voices. At this point, she’s unable to complete a single word.
“Oh…Hillary…have you forgotten how to speak, you dumb hag?” it continues.
Now she becomes more angry than frightened. “How dare someone speak to me like that? Even worse, someone with a male voice?!”
“It is I…your deceased husband, Bill.”
“What do you want? I thought I buried you already!”
“I’ve come to warn about what will happen if you don’t change your ways.”
“Change my ways? Come again?”
“Yes…I’ve realized feminism has built me these really un-chic chains I have to carry around with me, wherever I go. Link by link, and yard by yard, I’ve covered myself with chains that not only ruin my appearance, but also prevent me from going out on those jogging runs I used to love doing in front of the cameras! I can barely even walk! It’s really bad!”
“Quit your bellyaching, Bill! You said this was something that concerned me!”
“Well, what I’m trying to tell you, hag, is that not only will you be forced to carry around similar chains, everything you value around you in society will perish, unless you abandon your feminism!”
“What the…? What is this gibberish you’re saying?”
“Oh, you silly old bat. I’m done trying to reason with you. I’ll just inform you that you’ll be visited by these three spirits of different feminist epochs at noon during the coming few days. They’ll change your tune for sure!”
With that, the apparition leaves, and Hillary makes for the bed.
***
For all installments of “A Feminism’s Carol,” click here.
Daniel Hammarberg is an aspiring literary heavyweight, an IT everything-under-the-sun, a persecuted thought criminal, a former strongman competitor, and an all around swell guy. His main English-language site is DanielHammarberg.com and he lives on a formerly white island in Sweden that sadly gets ethnically darker with each passing day.
