Catherine reads a book and it’s hella misogynist. “Holy god,” she says, “dudes be misogynist as all get-out. Misogynist as BALLS. This is some super-sexism here, is what it is.”

“Hey, you’re totally right,” says a voice behind her. She turns around and there are three women standing there, all decked out in robes and nonsense.

“Hey, whoa, you’re in my room,” Catherine says, “that ain’t so cool. How’d you get in here? What are you doing? Why the fuck do you think it is cool to just stone cold come into people’s rooms without knocking or anything? That ain’t right.”

“We are angels,” says the first lady, who is holding a mirror. “We don’t do doors.”

“Angels, huh?” Catherine thinks about it. She’s still full of white-hot fury (on account of the misogyny) but angels are pretty rad. “I guess that’s cool.”

“Hell, yeah,” says the second lady, who is holding some sort of leather thing. Maybe it’s a bridle? “We were just kicking it up in Heaven, all basking in the ineffable radiance of the knowledge of God, and we saw (because we’re angels) that you were being confronted with some F’REAL SEXISM, and so we came down to tell you how it is, straight truth.”

“Hey, wow,” says Catherine, “that sounds totally excellent, and not at all dumber than totally addressing the structural inequalities of society that fuel sexism.”

“I know, right?” says the third lady, who is holding a ruler. “Let’s DO THIS.”

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