At a table outside a Mexican restaurant. The sky is warm . A couple sits and eats.
“Are you a feminist?” Woman asks.
“Are you a feminist?”
Man pauses, swallows a bite of burrito. “I’m not an anti-feminist.” Man takes a bite of burrito.
“So, you’re a feminist?”
Man chews. “A feminist?” he asks.
Man pauses. “I’m not an anti-feminist.” Man takes another bite of burrito.
“What does that even mean?”
“It means I’m not an anti-feminist.”
Woman stares, brows furrowing. “What is your understanding of feminism?”
“Like, women, um,” man swallows, “wanting more rights.”
“Feminism,” she interrupts, “is a movement advocating for equal political, social, and economic rights and legal protection of those rights.”
“Yes,” he says.
“ Are you an advocate of equal gender rights, then?”
“Sure. Of course.”
“So you’re a feminist.”
“No. No, I’m not a feminist.”
“How do you figure?” Woman is not enjoying her own burrito.
“You know,” he says, “I never liked the word feminism. They should call it, the movement for equal gender rights. Or, the gender equality movement. Something along those lines.”
“And why is that?” Woman asks.
“Well, calling it feminism sort of defeats the purpose, right? I mean, how can you say you want equal rights when the own name of your cause excludes males? Even still, that doesn’t matter. Women and men can’t have complete equality. Like, in sports. Can you imagine a female quarterback? Some things are just made for men. Think about the workplace. More and more women are getting high paying jobs, but look at what’s happening to home life. Children need to be taken care of.”
“What about the men?”
“What about them?” He chews. “How’s your burrito, babe?”