Kelli Ann Cox, Publisher, The Golden Hammer
I am sick and tired of being labeled a derivative of men. I’m not a female, because that makes it sound like I’m just from a male. I’m not “she” because I don’t want the word “he” as part of me. The worst of all is the word “woman” which comes from the late Old English “wimman,” an alteration of “wifman,” meaning I’m a “female servant” to a man!
No way will I ever say the word “Hebrew” any longer, because “Shebrew” is just as appropriate. I won’t ever fly in a “helicopter” but I’m willing to soar the skies inside of a “shelicopter.”
Not serving as a priest in my spiritual choice doesn’t mean that I’m a “layman.” And I’m not a “lay” either, because that’s offensive. Instead, I am a generic being who happens to have chosen the nonpriesthood.
If you want to call me a “lady,” I will punch you between the eyes, because a “lad” is not part of me either.
Don’t you dare refer to me as “she,” because “he” ain’t any part of who I am.
I’ll throw you off a cliff if you call me “matron” because it rhymes with “patron” and I’m not going to act matronly just to make you happy.
I guess I’ll be your pal if you call me “gal.”
And, let’s be clear, it’s time to end the discrimination against us gals, so I support a boycott of any book which has Genesis 2:22 in it. Oops, I meant to say “I support a galcott of any book which has Genesis 2:22 in it.”
Never, ever, even think about calling me broad, tootsie, chick, dame, skirt, lassie, doll, or bimbo.
In conclusion, thanks be to the Deity. Awomen.