Her journey into feminism continues!
She called me this morning while I was working (which is fucking tragic, because I would have really enjoyed the conversation) to inform me that she was listening to her favorite oldies station when "I'm a Girl Watcher" suddenly came on.
"And do you know, I was ACTUALLY SINGING ALONG!" She bellowed into my voice mail, her thick southern accent horrified. "Until I realized," she took a deep breath here, angry at herself or the song, I'm not entirely sure, "that it is CELEBRATING THE FILTHY MALE GAZE THAT OPPRESSES US. Call me back, sweetie. We need to talk! Oh, and don't worry. I changed stations after that."
Jesus. Imagine if she'd accidentally stumbled on some Pitbull and FloRida?!