Thought for the day.

[davywavy]

Virginia Woolf once said that, to be herself, a woman needs a room of her own in which she can be undisturbed.
So how come, right, when Mrs. Rochester in Jane Eyre got precisely that, she did nothing but complain about it?

Eeeh, women. They're never satisfied.

Comments

[gnommi.livejournal.com]

but we *like* complaining!

[davywavy.livejournal.com]

Experience should have taught me that by now.

Chicks eh?

[(Anonymous)]

I mean, really, what do they actually want?

Re: Chicks eh?

[davywavy.livejournal.com]

Greater Lesser Other minds than mind have asked that same question.

Re: Chicks eh?

[(Anonymous)]

The best answer I heard was 'To lose 5 pounds and some Jimmy Choos'

Re: Chicks eh?

[davywavy.livejournal.com]

Why do they want to lose the Jimmy Choos?

Re: Chicks eh?

[gnommi.livejournal.com]

EVERYTHING

NOW

but only if it looks like it a was a spontaneous, gentlemanly gesture, obviously.

Re: Chicks eh?

[davywavy.livejournal.com]

That's all my gestures.

Re: Chicks eh?

[thegreenman.livejournal.com]

You can't have everything. Where would you put it?

Re: Chicks eh?

[gnommi.livejournal.com]

minions would carry it!

[davywavy.livejournal.com]

See? Never satisifed!

[davywavy.livejournal.com]

But she got a room! Isn't that what you're supposed to want?

[gnommi.livejournal.com]

*high fives*

[(Anonymous)]

Too right, what about Woolfie herself?
Your Dad's a knight and Thackery's step son (I think), your mum's a top beauty and descended from one of Marie Antoinette's babes. Nobody makes you go to school. You and your literary mates dress up as Abyssinian Princes, demand (and get) a private train to "inspect" HMS Dreadnaught - and everybody laughs instead of having you shot.
You marry a Socialist bloke with loads of dosh who still desires you after 25 years of marriage and doesn't complain about your Sapphic romps with Vita (and you've got not a room but an entire country pile to yourself whenever you want it).
You publish a few screeds which can be summarised as *woe* but which get lauded to the skies.
...and it's all too much to bear so you top yourself.

D

(doubt if Agnes Gonxha ever had a rooom to herself)