This is essentially a rant, and you may find that there is no point to this post at all, but read on if you must!
Recently, I found myself thinking about the Mill on the Floss, and how much I was like Maggie when I was younger, and how stupid the men in my life were. ALL of them.
Parts of the book made me convulse in anger and frustration, particularly this one:
Oh, how brave you are, Tom! I think you’re like Samson. If there came a lion roaring at me, I think you’d fight him, wouldn’t you, Tom?
He says: How can a lion come roaring at you, you silly thing? There’s no lions, only in the shows.
“No; but if we were in the lion countries—I mean, in Africa, where it’s very hot—the lions eat people there. I can show it you in the book where I read it.”
“Well, I should get a gun and shoot him.”
“But if you hadn’t got a gun. We might have gone out, you know, not thinking, just as we go fishing; and then a great lion might run towards us roaring, and we couldn’t get away from him. What should you do, Tom?”
Tom paused, and at last turned away, saying, “But the lion isn’t coming. What’s the use of talking?”
“But I like to fancy how it would be,” said Maggie, following him. “Just think what you would do, Tom.”
“Oh, don’t bother, Maggie! you’re such a silly. I shall go and see my rabbits.”
Can you believe the douchebag?