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this whole thoughts on toxic masculinity in the minutiae reminds me of a story i heard
ww2, a dude keeps sneaking into the women's mess hall every so often
he's quiet and sits by himself and doesn't bother anyone, it's only once every few weeks, but he finally gets confronted
he replies, wearily, "i know i'm not supposed to be here, but i just wanted to have lunch where i could hear 'please pass the butter' instead of 'pass the goddamn grease'..."
note: i am sorry for this because Kipling was An Odious Motherfucker of the Highest Order who you Should Not Emulate
...even if his writing was unexpectedly a deep influence on my own
but i think between Pratchett and Brian Jacques, it may be a case of second-hand Kipling as well
so i guess in conclusion there is a sliver of me just ready to go Feminist Kipling and pontificate dubiously about how feminism is the woke woman's burden to educate and elevate these poor souls who know not any better
it's probably the tip of my pinky that wants to stick out when i'm drinking tea fancily
sorry, everyone