Let me ask you wannabe rescuers something: why do you want to remove an adult's agency, and the right to use HER body how SHE wishes, and earn HER income how SHE wishes? People fuck. Goodness, presumably your own parents even had a fuck at some stage, so why do you care if people do it for an exchange of currency?
Some little girls don't want to grow up to scrub toilets for a living, but end up doing so. Do you wish to rescue them from the drudgery, the exposure to cleaning agents, and the grotesquery of some of those skid marks down the bowl?
Some little girls don't want to grow up to be bullied or sexually harassed in the workplace, or undervalued, or caught in the crossfire of ludicrous office politics, and end up in this very situation. I can vouch for this, and where were my rescuers when I needed them? What's that I hear? Crickets.
People who choose sex work do so for a variety of reasons, and it's usually the choice that suits them and their circumstances the most at that particular point in their lives. Just let them be. Stop making life difficult. If someone wants to earn top dollar for a few hours' worth of banging someone, as opposed to a pittance for waiting tables, or nurse's aide, or childcare worker (and for considerably more hours), why do you care? These people - men and women - have made their own informed decisions. I think it boils down to: MIND YOUR OWN DAMN BUSINESS!
It's just gotten on my nerves, that's all.
And what else has gotten on my nerves? This:
Have a look at it. Can you see why it's got me grinding my molars? Notwithstanding what I'm certain is the apocryphal shit-stirring that goes on every year at this time (for the record, RWNJs: nobody is going to destroy Anzac Day), the spelling and punctuation in this meme had me checking the cupboard beneath the sink to see, just on the off-chance, if we had some smelling salts. I'm not sure if the generator of this meme is reading this post, but I'm going to ask him or her something: Mate, do you even ENGLISH?
Yes, yes, I KNOW 'English' is an adjective and not a verb (and likely a noun when referring to things like the Mother Tongue), but I thought I'd best use a vernacular this person would understand. A few things: (1) it's spelt 'interfere'; (2) it's spelt 'freedom'; (3) there should have been a full stop after 'tradition', and a capital for the sequential word 'we'; (4) your parenthesised section should have had a comma between the clauses, or in simpler terms between 'agree' and 'repost'; and (5) you opened the meme's caption with quotation marks, so where are the closing quotation marks?
Our proud Anzac tradition will remain, so stop panicking. Also, let me reassure those who thought I might have been throwing some flippancy at our returned diggers: nothing could be further from the truth. I respect these people wholeheartedly, and I will endeavour to get to the dawn service on 25 April. But let's face it, we see these dire posts every year around this time. They're a bit like the posts that circulate every Christmas, and again people must be reminded 'other' sectors of the community are not trying to take away anyone's right to celebrate Christmas, nor are they bothered if anybody wishes to celebrate.
I'm told Mercury is no longer in retrograde, so I guess we can all start feeling normal again (whatever 'normal' may be). Also, I have almost finished going through the edited manuscript of Howling on A Concrete Moon again, so I might be soon ready to approve cover art and sign the printing release. I had a rather nice moment last Thursday night when I attended the local writers' group meeting. We had some new members attend, and I after I had finished reading my 500-word contribution for that particular evening, one of the new members looked at me as though she had undergone a Damascene realisation, and asked, 'You wrote Abernethy, didn't you?' Feeling chuffed, I said yes. She told me she had read some, although not all, of the novel, and thought it had 'a beautiful voice'. These are the kinds of moments one dreams of as a writer. Recognition and praise make for nice bedfellows.
Before I go, Gentle Reader, let me warn you to be careful when removing the plastic lid to the small bottle of cream purchased at the supermarket. So frustrated was I tonight, tugging and pinching at the small protuberance on the lid whereby one grips and pulls, hopefully to follow a perforated path around the lid thus causing said lid to open, I finally put the 'tag' between my teeth and tugged. Bad idea. Sure the lid came free, but let's just say I looked like I'd been bukkake'd. Take care in the kitchen, folks.
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