when you see a really drunk girl leave a bar alone late at night and you follow her and make sure she gets into her taxi all right, that’s self-protection.
when you aren’t afraid of looking like a supreme chickenshit and ask your friend to go into a public bathroom with you because it creeps you out, but not for any tangible reason, that’s self-protection.
when you are in the music store and you pick a CD by women musicians who have your back instead of by a bunch of boys who hog all the air time on the radio, that’s self-protection.
when you are sitting on the bus and the man who sits next to you gives you a bad vibe and you get up and move to another seat without giving a rats ass about feeling like you’re being rude, that’s self-protection.
when you find out which politician is supportive of women, lesbians and motherhood and vote for her, that’s self-protection.
when you look at all the beautiful women on TV and in magazines in the grocery store and think they are part of a weird industry run by men with major, major dick complexes, that’s self-protection.
when you boycott all media not responsive in every way, shape and freudian slip to women’s rights, that’s self-protection.
when you make a conscious effort to spend your money in establishments owned by women, that’s self-protection.
when you tell your dude if he can’t hold his wad until you’re damn well ready to come then he’s gonna hafta invest in a strap-on dildo of your choosing, that’s self-protection.
when you ask for a raise, that’s self protection.
when you insist everyone re-read Pippi Longstocking again, that’s self-protection.
when you and your friends concoct plans of poetic guerrilla terrorism against a teacher, fellow student, co-worker, or boss who sexually harasses women, that’s self-protection.
when you decide it’s in your best interest to worship a goddess who innately respects women, that’s self-protection.
when you cook a gourmet, five-course meal no one but you will partake in, that’s self-protection.
when you “accidentally” spill your drink on a man at a party who looks at your body rather vulpinely, and you don’t in the least appreciate it, that’s self-protection.
when you educate yourself about clitoridectomies, infibulation, forced prostitution, rape as a war tactic and a way of controlling women, the Nation of Islam, Judaism, Christianity and prepatriarchal religions, the Inquisition, women painters, photographers, filmmakers, poets, writers, activists, politicians, sex-industry workers, historians, archeologists and musicians, that’s self-protection.
when you read, then watch “The Bandit Queen,” that’s self-protection.
when you massage your friend because she’s PMSing hard, that’s self-protection.
when you buy a pull-up bar and install it in a doorway you pass constantly so you end up doing pull-ups all the time, even though you used to think you couldn’t do pull-ups, that’s self-protection.
when you dance, run, jump, buy yourself a birthday cake even though your birthday’s five months away, cavort, kiss all the girls you love to love, laugh, sing, shout, jump rope, ding-dong ditch the house of someone who gets on your nerves, swing, climb trees, pick your nose in public, daydream, eat with your fingers, break something on purpose, fart loud, skip and pin your friends to the ground and tickle them, that’s self-protection.
every time you look in the mirror and your heart races because you think, “i’m so fucking rad,” that’s self-protection.