Jennifer Fliss

On a dark rainy night, when our toddler was asleep, he set up Star Wars: A New Hope — who knew that was what it was called? — on the laptop. I, with a skeptical brow, cozy blanket, and my phone (in case boredom struck)...

Chick Flick Cherry: If it’s about romance, it’s a chick flick. About love: chick flick. Maybe it’s about chickens. Poultry love. Either way: for you, I’ll watch it. So you can pop my cherry afterwards. My nail polish is just asking for it.

You held a cap gun to my head on the bus ride home from school, threatening to shoot me, day after day. I know you couldn't have known that I had something similar happening at home.

You wake up to birds chirping, just kidding, you don’t, because it’s February and it’s freezing, and also you have a kid. 

I don’t think you meant well. You wanted to vomit your discontent to the world. Isn’t that embarrassing? Or is it like a seven-cocktails-and-two-shots kind of vomit?

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Don’t flush the toilet. Don’t turn on the lights. This is a good time to either meditate or partake in that incredibly wise bit of advice to sleep when the baby sleeps.

Chick-fil-A is at it again. This time they’re out to help. Honestly. They’ve rolled out a new service, the Mom’s Valet. Moms can order their food via the drive-thru and then go inside the fast-food restaurant, where a table will be ready, complete with high chairs and booster seats, and then have their food brought to the table by an employee. The program isn’t implemented by their corporate office yet, but has been rolled out in over 100 Chick-fil-A outlets.

Many people (rightfully) believe that women own their bodies, and that, therefore, they should be in control of their own bodies. So why do those same people turn around and try to define girls by their clothing?

It is the denigrating soundtrack of a breast pumping session. You, sitting at its mercy. It, just taking and taking.