Category Archives: derros

CHOP LESSONS: Things I learned these past coupla weeks (Part 3 in a series)

1. It’s much easier to get divorced in Islam and frankly I suspect this is for the best.

I’ve just finished reading Jeffrey Eugenides The Marriage Plot and you know, I quite liked it. Unfortunately, many of my favourite authors write one or two AMAZING books (Siri Hustvedt, I’m staring directly at you) and a bunch of so-so novels too. Having absolutely adored Eugenides’ first two novels, the sublime Virgin Suicides and the gorgeously, intricately plotter Middlesex, I had high hopes for The Marriage Plot but it fell a little flat. Still an enjoyable read.

Anyway, I did learn a bunch of things in this book which is the pleasing side effect of being a fiction reader (as opposed to the singular purpose of non-fiction I suppose.)

One of the things I learned that apparently all that is required for divorce under certain Islamic practice is for the husband to say to the wife three times (just to be sure): I divorce thee, I divorce thee, I divorce thee. 

This really got me thinking. Continue reading

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CHOPS AT LARGE: Derro magnet (Part 2)

Look, I had no intention of writing a series of posts on how much derros love me, but I just think you should know that one of the Semi-Homeless (see here for definition) deemed it necessary to call me a slut today. And I was just minding my own business! What is an appropriate response under the circs? All I could think of was “You wish, derro!”

My day did get better though. I had a really nice coffee, got heaps of work done and no one else questioned my morals at all. (Not to my face, anyway.)

 

CHOPS AT LARGE: Derro magnet

It would appear that I am something of a derro magnet.

The other day, I was walking down Lygon St after work. Casually minding my own business, listening to some music en route to my hairdresser, I was stopped by a bloke my BFF describes as the Semi-Homeless. You know the type — he probably did have a home, and a local pub to drink in, but a pretty shitty home and only the shittiest pubs. He was wearing a sheepskin jacket and a flanno, and had he been 20 years younger, without the packet of Holiday 50s, I probably would have fancied him. Anyway, he gave me a lascivious wink, a big smile and an enthusiastic “G’DAY RANGA!” I have to say, old derros just don’t wink like they used to. And I’ll be honest: I didn’t mind it. Continue reading