Faith Salie

Whenever I told women - friends or acquaintances - that I had to go to divorce court, they'd invariably, without skipping a beat, ask, 'What are you going to wear?' It was like instant female solidarity: of course it mattered what I was going to wear.

Manspread, mansplaining, manterrupting - all of it, whether conscious or not, diminishes women's voices, minds, and bodies.

It's one thing to decry and defy political correctness in the name of efficiently achieving clarity or revealing an honest truth. But it's quite another thing entirely to support name-calling and nastiness.

I've spent my life being responsible, building a career, and waiting to find the right partner with whom to start a family.

Women all over this great land are creating spaces just for themselves, most often out of sheds in their backyards. They're fantasy cottages, bespoke bungalows, 'mama maisons,' if you will, for mothers and wives who need a sanctuary - a haven where they can do anything, or nothing.

Man cave' seems retrograde, but 'she shed' seems progressive. Or maybe it's just a place for me to eat embarrassing amounts of chocolate in private.

If you grasp the bathroom door handle to exit without using a paper towel, you're right back where you started, with who-knows-whose germs on your hands.

The custom of clasping hands is thought to date back thousands of years, as proof of not holding any weapons.

Just as kids need to learn to respect their elders, we are a society that increasingly respects our youth.

My first husband and I never came close to having kids.

I tell my kids all the time that I'm so lucky they chose me to be their mom.

As a mother, I don't want any girl twerking near my kid at a bat mitzvah.