by Lucy Ashton
We’ve had International Women’s Day and soon it’s mother’s day so maybe March should become girls’ month. Oh, sorry, can I call them “girls”? Even I’m not sure what’s politically correct any more when it comes to feminism.
Twitter was flooded with #iwd hashtags this week but *whispers* I really don’t know what it’s all meant to be about? And most of my girlfriends don’t either.
My local city council stated “it celebrates the economic, political and social achievements of the past, present and future” and listed a host of events.
I liked the sound of this, so clicked on the list to find out what was happening. Women-only chairobic sessions at a number of churches, a taster in zumba and henna painting for Somali women. Suffragette Adela Pankhurst, who lived and worked in my home city of Sheffield, would be so proud.
So it’s no wonder the day passed by unnoticed for all the smart, sparky women I know. They were too busy running their businesses and rearing children.
And isn’t that the crux of the problem with all this? What exactly are we fighting for in Britain in 2012?
Women can drive, go to university, become a captain of industry or wear a bikini and sell their wedding photos to Hello magazine.
We can take contraception, have an abortion, undergo IVF, adopt and become single mothers. And I can get married, get divorced or have a civil partnership. Hell, I can even become a man if I want to.
