While I credit most of my "growing up" (there's still a lot of work to do) to my mom, I think my former high school molded me into the person I am today. At 14, I begged my mom to send me to an all-girls prep school I had seen in the newspaper. A school where proms were more than the usual awkward experiences, and nuns were still intact. For whatever reason, she said yes. And so began my feminist training. What's wrong with that? No worries, I'm pro-woman, not anti-man. But here's a real paradox: this feminism was so "you're making my sandwich, man" that I don't even have any survivalist skills in the kitchen. Example: When I look in the fridge, I say, "Ermahgad, we don't have any food!!!!" My husband opens the fridge and can whip up a yummy meal. I practically grovel at his feet, begging for his voodoo magic in cooking. Today, I decided we didn't have any food (even though we did), and I convinced him to take me to Salsa Café, a delicious burrito shop. Happy Wednesday, folks. I hope you are devouring a burrito because somewhere it's american-burrito time.
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