In case you guys are unaware, March is international women’s month. Apparently this escaped my brother. I came into his room, out of the kindness of my heart, to tell him our sweet mama has made dinner. That’s when I knew I should’ve let him starve.
In case you guys have never lived in the same house as a moody 14-year-old, let me just set the scene. I come into the brother’s room, or shall I say, den. Blinds drawn, lights off, not even the flicker of crusty LED’s to make out the mounds of dirty laundry and hoards of Pokemon cards. I graciously let him know that yes, dinner was ready. Some crockpot concoction that my mother had come up with. As I did so however, I mistakenly, to his and to my horror, knocked over a half-drank white monster off of the nearby surface. That’s where the woman-hating started.
When I knocked over the elixir of life, so cherished by middle school boys everywhere, I knew I had messed up. In absolute fury, over seeing the sweet nectar of Monster soaked into the carpet of his bedroom, the only thing that my brother could muster to say to me was this; “Foid”.
“Foid” is defined by Urban Dictionary as a derogatory slang term for women. Often suggesting that they are slow or lesser then. The term is derived from incel 4chan. Shocked. Appalled. Had I not raised him better than this? And of all months, to call one’s sister this destructive insult, did it have to be Women’s month? Well…I couldn’t stand for this. I had to do something…anything…I saw visions of my brother in that moment hunched over his P.C. on Reddit. This was the first step to a sad, women-hating life. I had to do something. I had to tattle.
I told my mama. To my great dismay, the only punishment she could muster for the egregious crime committed was an apology from my brother. She seemed much more irritated with the fact that 0 out of 3 of her children were really vibing with the crockpot dinner she had so lovingly prepared. She told this to him. To which I received a very unenthused apology text as an “apology”.
This would simply not do. Who else might this 14 year old twerp call this term, Susan B. Anthony? Eleanor Roosevelt? Malala? So I responded that the only acceptable and natural way to apologize was in the form of a powerpoint presentation, on how women are superior in every way. To nobody’s shock he made some pretty valid points.
Like did you know that all embryos start of with XX chromosomes? The XY one is a mutation? Or that women have better color perception than men? And sure, ChatGPT was used in its creation but when I quizzed him at the end, he could name three women: me, our mom, and Michelle Obama. And everybody knows, when you can name three of something, you’re an expert.
Whether it be songs from a band or women in your life. And I’m proud to say that I have never heard my brother say the dreaded word since.
