So, starting a new business, just hacking my way through the red tape with a sharpened machete, when yesterday I was presented with the CM27 form (click to enlarge it)
Now I know what you’re thinking … You’re thinking that this a joke, right? A lame one. Like those instruction manuals on “how to be a good wife” from the fifties, which, come off it, man, are probably fake. NO PEOPLE! This is no joke. I am most certainly not giggling coquettishly about the fact that I am required in terms of a repealed South African law to have my husband, whose “marital powers” I am not “subject to”, consent to my appointment as a director of a company. The relevant penis-owner, on the other hand, was laughing so hard as he signed the form that his manly signature went all wonky. Even after warning him that I’d Lorena Bobitt him with the tip of the Bic pen while he slept if he didn’t stop laughing like a school girl and sign a nice patriarchal signature, I was still so pissed off about the CM27 that I blogged about it. I was going to unleash the fury of my army of feminist clones upon the bureaucrats who have failed to draft a new form since the “new” Act was passed in 2008, when I realised that I didn’t have one (yet), so I satisfied myself with my blog. Yes, that will teach them, I thought.
So here is my message to the sexist vermin who still clog the bloated corps of civil service, intent on undermining women’s rights with sheer idleness:
Liberty and equality are the pillars upon which we are supposed to be building this new nation, in partnership between our democratically elected government and her citizens, whom I will refer to as “the tax payers”, and yet one of us is not even fucking trying here. Or did you miss that bit during civil servant orientation – because you were taking the last of your twelve sick days you’re entitled to? Well, know this as you lie there slumped over your desk at the CIPC waiting for four o’clock to roll around: the time is ripe for a purge, amigos.
After I have sic’d the Pink Avengers on you, the reckoning will be swift and brutal. Oh yes, come the revolution, after all members of the sinister Family Policy Institute lodged in Parliament Chambers have been shot, you will be dispatched to my ‘focus camps’ at Sorbet outlets across South Africa, where you will be forced to recite whole passages from The Female Eunuch by Germaine Greer while having a hot buttock-scrotum-and-testicle wax inspired by PlayGirl.com, branded “The Chilean”. Hope you squeal like a chauvinist pig, boy.
photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/johnspooner/3295037085/”>John Spooner</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a> <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/2.0/”>cc</a>