Sorry, people who want everyone to fit into neat categories, but I refuse to be reduced to a label. Yes, I am a feminist. No, I don’t support Planned Parenthood. I strive for the full equality of women and men, yet on a date I absolutely expect the man to pay. I’m as brittle as a twig, but I can never break. Brisker than fog but slower than wind, the only way to touch me is by standing still.

Can you tell me what I am?

I have a career, but at the same time, I have a family I love. I am a fiercely independent woman, but I believe deeply in the power of marriage. I rise at dusk and set at dawn, I have a name that is not mine. I have more legs than I have knees.

The rich all need me, though the poorest beggar would never want me. I spin forever, but I can never turn around. I don’t need a traditional family, and yet I want a traditional family.

Have you guessed it yet?

I believe the objectification of women is a major problem in our society even as I find “Blurred Lines” to be an undeniably catchy pop song. To me, cosmetic surgery is empowering, rain rises from beneath, and eternity is no time at all.

Can you tell me what I am?

Feminist and feminine, I have a body but am not my body. My heart is wood; my hands are fruit; my heart is eggs; my blood is glass. When you shout, I cannot hear you, but when you whisper, I am listening from 1,000 miles away. No nurse knows where to find me, and my doctor’s full home address is written on my leg.


I believe it’s the guy’s job to ask the girl out.

Beautiful children, I have three. My breakfast is cloth and my supper is string. I am a sword but not a shield. I can turn back armies with a wave of my hand, but faced with a scrap of paper I am helpless as a tiny bumblebee.

I make my decisions, yet what I choose is no choice of mine.

Once more I ask you: What am I?