Composed Adultosaur is overrated.

I was making bets with myself how long it would be before this gif turned up.

Spoiler: I win.

So uh ... you're kinda grey. What happened there?

It's where I live.

It's ok, I've turned it into a perverse game. I'm spreading 1970s feminism to the middle of the country!

"Or cool blue Gatorade. Because these things come out of you."

I don't live in Ireland, but it sounds like my home is similar.

I'd have to think for a while to come up with a flip reply to "God's will" but I'd get there eventually.

Using that guy's face in response to someone calling themselves an asshole makes me chuckle.

I live in the middle of the country. I could probably find another, but I'd prefer to slowly teach this one how to act.

The asshole part is that I've been going to this office for 2-3 years. Every time I do, there's some bullshit, anti-feminist thing that gets said or done because I live in a flyover state, and every time it gets said, I let my liberal, West-Coast loving secret self fly by checking it. My file probably has a stamp on…

I will, but you should know ... I can be kind of an asshole. (Example: see above)

I spent most of the appointment asking if I needed his permission to do things. "Put this gown on," was followed by, "Should I call my husband first?"

"Give me your arm so I can draw blood/take your blood pressure." Did I need to call him first?

"Put your feet in the stirrups." Did I need to call my husband?

The point…

Ok, but if I want an abortion and the father of my fetus doesn't ... does he have to pay me for rental of my uterus and/or body? Is he legally liable for my healthcare costs? Which one of us gets custody of the child? I'm assuming he pays for childcare in full, since he made sure that there was a child to care for.…

I recently got a Mirena, and although they had no law backing them, the healthcare providers heavily insinuated I needed my husband's verbal consent to have it inserted. "It's important to consult both parties on decisions that will effect both of them."

Note that they didn't ask if we'd discussed it - they just…

My now-husband has a story about getting into a literal pissing contest (as in they were literally peeing in each other's general directions) that had something to do with the best part of poutine, as well.

Remember that thing I said about watching this in real time?

I was so right.

I'm stuck at the desk grading all afternoon, which means that between busting plagiarism and snarking about subpar grammar, I will be watching it unfold in real time.

Thanks for making it easier to not do my job!

Illustration of Anna's thought process when writing this title:

I denied having a type for almost a decade. I am now married and, looking back at old photos ... the evidence of type-having was there, whether or not I accepted it.

He's not my normal type. I get that it's socially acceptable, but on a personal level, it's baffling.

I'm not sure if the celebrity inspires pantsfeelings because he reminds me of a fun period in my sexual development, or if I put up with the regular-joe substitute because he looked a lot like the celebrity. But for the record: