And yet . . . something in me resisted. Recoiled slightly. On the one hand . . . I felt so alone going to court to protect my son from said family member this past year, terrified, on on occasion even crying on the train for an hour in front of strangers (coming from a woman who doesn’t even like her friends to see her cry) . . . this would be a whole movement of people (if successful), holding hands together, “making the men wonder” where we all went? And would they appreciate us now?
Quite honestly, were we still back in time a few decades, I think a well-organized laundry and dinner strike would have been quite effective, to get attention at the very least. But perhaps not it’s not quite so simple. And I’m sure at least one of you reading this wants to slap the shit out of me for that joke.