He will never admit it, but Matt is a vigilante and a superhero, standing up for stray cats and feral vaginas everywhere. Or maybe it’s stray vaginas? I’m not sure. Back when we were kids, cookie fingers smudging paths along walls fraught with white, I often wanted to pop him in the mouth for the stupid stuff he’d say and the even more asinine stuff he’d do, but then he’d speak to me in this soft, convincing tone of voice — velvety smile to match — and my fists would no longer make any sense to me. Like I said, he’s a vigilante, always probing and prodding for that feminist line in the sand.
I like to keep him guessing, though. Mostly because I have no idea what being a feminist actually means other than that I always seem to pay for breakfast …