Some homework on feminism and spanking

Alrighty, dear readers, my brain fog is still palpably thick. Or as A. might say, "it's a right pea-souper." So I'm going to assign you some homework as I slowly chip away at my post whilst groping around in the haze (it also means I'm going to be a bit slow in getting to email -- I'm so sorry!).

The new spring issue of Bitch magazine is now online and gracing discriminating newstands everywhere. Why, you ask, am I suggesting you read Bitch on a blog about spanking? Well aside from the fact that it's a great magazine about pop culture and feminism, and, as the great bell hooks said, feminism is for everyone (including -- maybe even especially -- spankos), I also recommend you go out and find yourself a copy because this issue contains an article featuring yours truly (as well as others) and domestic discipline (it is, alas, not one of the articles available online -- yet).

I found a great deal in the article that was thoughtful and valuable. And, of course, there are a few areas where I very respectfully disagree. But I figure it might be nice to have a discussion about it if at least some of you have read the article. (Lordy it's been awhile since I said that -- albeit in a college classroom). Or, more importantly, I'm totally stalling while I wait for the fog to lift.

In the meantime, while I go back to watching television and trying not to drool on myself when I doze off, I leave you with a quote from a beautifully written post that was included in a recent feminist carnival. Go on. Go, read the entire post. You'll be glad you did. (My, aren't I in a toppy mood tonight?)

So, we took school seriously, we dated boys who were enlightened and honoured our stellar futures, we went on to postsecondary education, we delayed marriage, we started our careers and bought our houses before beginning our families, we nurtured our careers, earned our promotions, followed the social issues, donated to the progressive charities, hired the childcare, earned as much as or more than our husbands, pushed against the glass ceiling, talked the talk, walked the walk. We had everything, did everything, exhausted ourselves fighting the good fight, achieving the good life. One thing we / they forgot though … we somehow missed out on some of the original intention — choice.

I followed the rules, lockstep. I didn’t follow the only possible path — I get that. There were variations I could have chosen...Basically, though, I followed the rules. That’s how it felt — what we were really good at was the same thing our mothers were good at — following rules. This particular set of rules was about emancipation not subservience, but they were set expectations, nevertheless. It took me a long time to figure that out. Don’t get me wrong; I was grateful for the opportunities provided by those expectations and by the women who trailblazed to create them — I still am. But here I am, 42, and living in a box that is roomier and has better views than the one that contained my mother… but a box even so.

So… one night this week, I will meet Him. For four or five hours, I will accept a new set of rules, where I call him Sir, and he calls me pet, and I kneel, and he ties me up, and I shiver, and he spanks. The difference is that they will be rules that he and I negotiated together...