Her Values
From the pages of Business Insider, more progressive-woman-lifestyle news:
What those values might be will, perhaps, become clear, if only by implication.
That’s the article’s headline. The star of this drama is Ms Cindy Sheahan, a former real-estate agent. Judging by the tone and triumphant photograph, I’m guessing we’re supposed to regard Ms Sheahan as some kind of inspirational figure. No explanation is offered for Ms Sheahan divorcing her husband and then putting half a planet between her family and herself. There are no mutterings of neglect or infidelity. No hardships of any kind.
The nearest we come to a justification is,
And, er, so,
Again, the whys and wherefores of this radical uprooting remain oddly nebulous. Beyond, that is, the intrigue of unfamiliar food. We are, however, informed,
So says our woman of high progressive principle – the woman who abandoned her husband and family, and her job, seemingly forever, despite promising to return:
Quite what Ms Sheahan’s employers made of this, or indeed her husband and four children, is, alas, not disclosed. Evidently they were deemed of no importance in this tale of progressive empowerment. And so, Ms Sheahan went searching for herself in Cambodia, and in Vietnam. And Laos. And Madagascar. And Turkey and Cyprus. And France and Spain and Portugal and Greece. Indeed, this quest for self – this attempt to find an alignment of values – spanned “nearly fifty countries.”
Before – presumably thwarted – trying Italy:
And as you can imagine, Ms Sheahan is so into authenticity.
And being so authentic, so attuned to higher matters, her days are now spent eating alone in restaurants:
Oh, and grocery shopping. Specifically,
Ah, the inexhaustible romance of buying tomatoes. It’s all about personal growth, you see:
For some reason, the abandoned husband and four distant children come to mind.
Ah.
So screw those guys. Madam has tomatoes to buy.
If the above sounds vaguely familiar, you may be thinking of this.
Via Dicentra.
And yet I don’t consider myself to be a bleeding heart. I just liked how the binomial Dicentra spectabilis sounded.
Never mind that the botanists reclassified half the Dicentra genus as Lamprocapnos. I’m not changing my name or my avi.
SO many red flags. How do you induce puberty in a three-year-old with incidental contact?
You don’t. Either he’s doing skin-to-skin wrong or he’s actually applying it to her skin to see what happens.
Either way, a freaking abuser.
A good guy with a gun.
Always call it out; too many people act like it never happens.
Been chugging on these.
Ladies and gentlemen, place your bets.
I would be chill about everything but the black pudding and paying for bags.
Many supermarkets here went through a phase of “reducing plastic waste” by making their free carrier bags thinner and more flimsy, until we arrived at bags approximately one molecule thick and with an 82% likelihood that the things would disintegrate before you made it back to the car. Prompting customers to use two or three, one inside another, thereby defeating any lofty planet-saving ambitions.
This was then phased out in favour of “bags for life,” costing 50p, and which are very sturdy and actually reusable.
Oh, and I should add that black pudding is not, so far as I’m aware, “a staple in most people’s households.” It’s fairly niche. I know only two people who like it, and neither eats it regularly.
Can’t forgive the instant coffee, though.
Speaking of womanly values, for my yte brethren, alas, this one is off the market. I am sure you all are as crushed as I am.
It’s the fact I’ve seen so many eerily similar proclamations, like it’s some kind of trend, a marker of status. Among broken bitches.
Band name.
I just assumed you liked the flower.
It tastes better if you don’t know what it is.
Transphobic dogs.
Cancer awareness.
It tastes better if you don’t eat it.
Heh. I actually tried some for the first time last year, knowing what it’s made of, as part of a fried breakfast at Beloved Sister-In-Law #2’s. It was surprisingly… not bad. I mean, I’m not sure I need to try again, but it wasn’t anywhere near as vile as I’d expected it to be.
Think I’d rather have an extra sausage, mind.
Transphobic dogs.
Most animals react the same way when confronted with unnatural things, and on that note…