The things we do for love.

Yes, it's true. I'm in love. Madly, truly, deeply, etc. It's never been like this before. I don't think I've ever been in love before now.

I never wanted to be one of those shallow girls who ignored all her friends when she fell in love. But here I am, staying in every night and neglecting my blog so that I can spend every minute with my new love. I still haven't even gotten an internet connection at home; I just don't want the distraction. And yeah, maybe the phone is off. Just leave a message, eh? I'm busy.

And that's not even the worst of it. I've found myself willingly doing things -- no, it's way more than that; I've found myself wanting to perform certain acts -- degrading acts that I have never performed, voluntarily or otherwise, for any other love.

Not even if they begged for it.

I'm talking about things that, for me, have always been the very hallmark of women's oppression. Things that my mother tried very gently and obliquely to suggest that every woman ought to learn how to do competently in order to keep her husband happy. I'm talking about the very symbols of submission to the patriarchal order.

But every past lover -- male or female (and trust me, they all want it at some point) -- who has ever asked me to do these things has just been shit outta luck. You want that so damn bad, I'd say, you need to hire a professional, or get those so-called 'needs' of yours met some other way. As in, 'DIY, pal.'

So why now? Why am I doing these things without even being asked? Have I given up? Just gotten tired of fighting the patriarchy? Am I now complicit in my own oppression? And: so what if I am? I mean, who knew it would be so darn fun?

To be perfectly honest, I feel kind of silly now for having objected so strenuously all these years. But now I'm doing it for myself, really I am. My new love has not even asked for it; I've offered it freely. There's nothing inherently oppressive about it if I'm the one choosing to do it, right? I'm an adult, and I have given my consent.

No, I'm not talking about blowjobs, nor even anal sex. You people think everything is about sex, what is up with that? Do you think sex is the only weapon the patriarchy has?

Here's what's happening, my friends: I am so deeply in love with my new house that I have been actually cleaning it. On purpose. For no reason at all. Take dusting, for example. I was at the grocery store and I got one of those fluffy duster thingys on a stick, and thought: wow, this could be kind of fun! And it is! I walk through the house waving it around like I'm some kind of magic fairy banishing all the dust. I mean, I don't even wait until someone writes "Dust Me" on an endtable, or until I notice that the dust bunnies have become wooly dust mammoths and that they appear to be organizing a revolution. Or at least some kind of a union and are preparing to make demands.

I just dust because I feel like it. And I sweep the floors. And put things away when I'm done with them; it's so easy now that there is a place to put everything. And I put dishes in the dishwasher and then put them away when they are done.

I am one happy woman, people.