The first day of classes is always a weird day. You know, getting back into the swing of doing things like waking up in the morning after a bout with insomnia, dragging my ass to the gym to lose the extra weight, and trying to make myself look half decent before I venture into public, that sort of thing.
It took me until this term to realize that I've had it all wrong.
I could cut out endless hours of primping, drying, putting on makeup and shaving my legs by doing one simple, easy thing.
Becoming a feminist.
Apparently, when you join them, they hand you a membership card and a cute little outfit to go with it. No more trying to figure out what outfit I should wear.
I would be required to wear Birkenstocks with white socks, tan pants that are way too short, a brown shirt, and turquoise jewelry. Apparently, wearing a lot of brown makes one in tune with nature or something.
No hair removal is necessary, neither is makeup. And the best part, my hair care routine would be significantly shortened because apparently, all feminists at my college are required to have the same short haircut and wear it completely devoid of any styling products what so ever.
Instead of being bothered by pesky things like homework, working, paying off my debt and the like, I can concentrate on the important things in life. Like why the cafeteria doesn't have more vegan food, and why men are the cause of all that is bad in the world.
Apparently, because I'm a chick, I should be flying the ovary flag proudly and screaming at the top of my lungs about the patriarchy and why the entire world should revolve around my menstrual cycle.
Why in God's name did I have to pick up a Women's Studies Minor?
Kill me now.