Mommy's Getting Radicalized

I schlepped the girls home, in the below zero wind chill, from dinner at a friend's one night this week, and as I used my real body to park in our real driveway, I noticed an enormous, glossy, semi-pornographic female image hanging from the front door. It looked like a Hustler image--a woman with lips parted, heavy eye makeup, apparently climaxing while wearing boxing gloves. Was this some bad joke, I wondered? No, just an ad for some new LA Fitness locations opening in our area.

Sometimes you don't know which straw will break a mother's back. This particular straw inspired some e-mail and phone call rants to the direct mail distributors, LA Fitness, and our local newspaper editorial column. I don't know if it's a good thing or not, but my six year-old can do a pretty good imitation of a feminist's tantrum. It makes me proud, and embarrassed all at the same time.

But bless my dear husband's heart for agreeing to list his name on the editorial alongside mine--he understood that my opinions might be accepted better with a male stamp of approval included. On that note, I heard about a study this week that feminists and their feminist husbands have happier relationships than couples who don't identify with feminism. I was quick to tell my dh about that one.

We're not joining LA Fitness anytime soon. We are, however, walking down to the local outdoor ice rink at least twice a week, the four of us skating and playing ice hockey. Neither of us has a six-pack or a butt worth photographing yet, but it still feels pretty good.