ARE YOU KIDDING ME?
I mean, really, are you fricking KIDDING me?
This bride above is THREE. THREE.
I Cry.
I read on CNN.com today
http://www.cnn.com/2008/WORLD/meast/04/17/yemen.child.ap/index.html
that there is an 8 year old that has been granted a divorce. And I start to feel my McDonald’s Southwest salad with grilled chicken coming back up my esophagus because to be granted a divorce, you need to be married and who is the Mother FUCK who marries an 8 year old, but the biggest Yemen perv in the world. I can’t even begin to imagine that the girl in the above picture is THRRREEEEEEE.
My littest daughter, Cracker, just turned two. So if we lived in Yemen, how excited would we be right now because we could be planning a wedding! In between trips to the park in her stroller and nappy time, we can get her eensy weensy little extremities Henna-ed for the wedding. In between diaper changes and teaching her how to eat with a fork, we can go register for china at Macy’s and linens at Bed, Bath and Beyond. Or more appropriately, we can just copy her fucking BABY registry and change the title to BRIDAL registry. Jesus, Joseph, Mary and all of the Saints, this is wrong, wrong, wrong.
Please don’t tell me that these marriages are consummated. At the very least, toss a shila on their heads, dress them up like brunette Henna-handed Jen Benet’s if you must, have your little cultural ceremony that you need, but then for the love of Allah, send her back to her parent’s straw hut afterwards and lock her away in a straw closet so the big bad husband can’t touch her until she is 18.
I picture Cracker getting married when she is comfortably, 28. Same thing for her sister, Bambi. Well, actually, Bambi I worry about. We may need to get she to a nunnery and fast. She is gorgeous and a whole lotta trouble. And she’s only six. Perhaps we can send Bambi to live with the crocodile girl in the jungle with the dead crocodile dad. I don’t think they sell their young in Australia. But Bambi does have a tendancy to harm small animals completely without her knowledge so she might not be welcome.
Me and the girls were at my cousin,s last summer, let’s call them Felt and Teeth. It was like 104 and all the kids were on the slip-n-slide, my son, Alpha and the other boys are rotating between playing baseball and jumping in the kiddy pool: you get the picture. The adults are dying, sweating and drinking Corona. My cousins have frogs that sometimes live in their window gutters and Bambi found four of them. She put them in this little plastic habitat house. If you have ever gone bug hunting with a child, you know what I mean. And she kept poking them, and flinging the thing around and every 4 minutes I was like, BAMBI leave the FROGS ALONE, so she was slick about it, really really slick and I caught her sneaking the habitat under her arm and she ran like a bat out of hell to the other side of the house. As she is running, I see these poor four little frogs, being catapulted, whipped, brain damaged and flung all over the walls of this hot death machine and I was Like, “Baaammmmmbbbiiippputtthefrogdsddoownnnnnnn”, so she dropped them. Kerplunk.
Before I could go over and assess the reptilian damage, I start running after baby Cracker and forget about the poor little buggers and a FEW HOURS later, we have to leave. And she goes to get her frogs so she can bring them home.
“They are not ours honey and we cant take them home, they belong to nature. Get in the car.”
“But I will put them in a baggie, mommy, you will see.”
(Deadlyphoto.com LMFAO, who is THAT webmaster? Talk about fucked up…)
…”HONEY”…and then she is screaming and screaming…and the frogs, the poor little flung fucking frogs, who were tossed., left in the scorching sun and now are laying askew in the upside down frog habitat from hell are murdered. And I am an accessory to a very violent death. She sees this and she cannot even live another minute.
“I KIIILLLLLEEDD TTHHHEMMMM IIIII KKIIILLLLEEDDD TTTHHHEEMMM”
“nononono honey, they are just hot from the sun and they are sleeping” so Teeth and I put them in their waterfall in the back and they are floating lifeless and banging against the little decorative rocks and we tell them to take a long cool drink…”drink froggies, drink”…
Cracker is keening and wailing harder than the Ma of a Dublin IRA prisoner and I carry my weeping frog murderer to the car.
I told Teeth, whispering, “Call me in 20 minutes and tell us that they are fine and that they hopped away. “
The phone call worked and Bambi recovered with only a few tiny permanent scars. But I digress…I was talking about infant brides.
OK, I have done a little research.
They do make them have sex.
“She charged that her husband constantly beat her and forced her to have sex.
‘I used to run from room to room to escape from him. But he would catch up with me,’ the girl said, her tiny frame swallowed in an oversized robe and head scarf, standing with her lawyer.”
…
…
…
There is no excuse in any culture for this. Please some try to explain this to me and make the hurt go away.
Oh, and let’s see here, let me just check Yemen off the Places We Want To Take Our Family For Vacation List. DESLECT. There we go.
Oh, oh Good! Here, look what I found. PHEW! Oh, this makes me feel so much better. Here, look at this,
“Although it has no legal minimum age for marriage, the wife is only allowed to live with her husband once she has reached puberty.”
Excellent, so when they get their period at THIRTEEN, it’s all good. The perv husbands can have them then. Fantastic, I feel so much better and I hope you do, too. I am off to go hug Cracker and Bambi now, throw away the keys to their chastisty belts, burn their passports and lock them in the basement.
