I used to get all worked up and ranty every year on the 9th of August, venting about how in 1956 South African women put their lives on the line for us, for us to, only a few decades later, allow the day to devolve into no more than a day to have high teas and champagne breakfasts.
I got over myself.
I still refuse to participate in the Mimosas and cake type commemorations of National Women's Day, but I have my own little ritual. It mainly involves reflecting on the women I am grateful for in my life. Sending the Y chromosome carrier out with his kids, and doing whatever I damn well please with my time.
Today this involved taking a long bath (I was in there for too long, started to get dizzy), wearing super comfy clothes, no bra and staring at the fridge for a really long time wondering why it doesn't have anything I actually want to eat.
Now I am off to lie on the couch, with a book, without children climbing all over me.
I am sorry for judging y'all for the champagne breakfasts. Do you, boo.
What are you up to?
Photo by Matthew Henry on Unsplash