It is that time of year when I steel myself to Christmas cards falling on the doormat addressing me as my husband’s accessory. As it happens, I didn’t change my name when I got married. At the time it seemed like an unnecessary admin hassle for a new surname that was no more remarkable than mine. Ten years of marriage and two children later and I am ecstatic that I didn’t. I may be someone’s mother, someone’s wife but I am still me and my birth surname is a very visible manifestation of that, whether or not people choose to notice it – mostly not!
So at this time of year I find myself at my most proudly feminist, avoiding the pinks and blues as I browse online and, occasionally, deliciously, in an actual shop, seeking Christmas present inspiration. I love the Mr Men and Little Miss books but not their titles and, as I immerse myself in them all over again with my six-year-old son, I find myself asking why it is that there is a Mr Cool, but no Ms Cool or, indeed, Master Cool? Why is there a Little Miss Bossy but no Mr or Master Bossy?
In fact, this year, how about a “No Labels” Christmas?
