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Please, No More Mansplaining: My Brain Functions Just Fine
The other day, I found myself at the butcher’s counter, searching for a specific cut of beef for my signature pot roast. This isn’t just any recipe; it’s a family favorite that I’ve perfected over the years. If I may say so, I consider myself quite the expert—though admitting that as a woman felt a bit awkward.
So there I was, ready to order my meat, expecting the butcher to simply hand it over. Instead, the male butcher looked me up and down and asked what I was going to use it for—like that was any of his business. Then, he launched into a five-minute lecture about the meat. Five minutes!
Yes, Mr. Butcher, I know you’re the professional, but I knew exactly what I wanted, and I didn’t require a tutorial. Here’s an open letter to you and all the other mansplainers out there.