And We’re Back

“Wisdom doesn’t necessarily come with age. Sometimes age just shows up all by itself.” -Tom Wilson

I’m back with more complaints about the Harpies.

In this post, the author describes a dinner she recently attended with friends. One her friends brought her five year old daughter, who had a birthday coming up. The kid was apparently really excited about the birthday and, as the author describes,

“…she kept rolling up on us guests and announcing: “I’m going to be six! How old are you?” We all dutifully reported our ages–which ranged from twenties to late sixties–at which point she’d cock her head and say: “That’s nice, but I’m going to be SIX!” Six is apparently where it’s at, y’all.”

It seems one of the women didn’t want to answer the question. The author describes what happened,

“…But there was one friend who simply refused to give up her age. she was obviously annoyed and kept fake-joking: “I’m going to be 97!” or “I’m 100!” Cutie-pie grew frustrated, saying ever more shrilly “No, really! I’m going to be six, how old are you?” It got uncomfortable for all concerned. Eventually Cutie-pie’s mother, saw the problem and distracted her, but not until Party Pooper grumbled, “Doesn’t she know that’s an inappropriate question?”

The author was annoyed. She writes,

“It pissed me off no end. Not only was this woman being needlessly rude to a little kid, but she’s just successfully taught that kid one of Patriarchy’s Greatest Hits: Aging is shameful, because the older women get, the more useless, irrelevant, asexual and generally unworthy of attention they are. Way to represent for womanity, sister!”

Oh christ. You’re so focused on extolling the feminist virtue not giving a fuck how old you are that you’ve missed the bigger picture. Namely, you shouldn’t let a rude 5 year old boss you around. Nor should you let the rude 5 year old’s parents not control their fucking child. Ten bucks that if it was a man asking this woman her age, our harpy friend here would be jumping up and down screaming about the evil “Patriarchy.”

I don’t care what the question is, if I don’t wanna answer it, I’m not going to. I don’t care who is asking, whether it be an adult, a kid or the the fucking Easter Bunny (in which case, the question will probably be “How did you get this fucked up?”). It’s not rude to not want to share personal information with anyone, even a child.

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