In an exclusive extract from her new book, the feminist writer Naomi Wolf explores explores how sexist pasta can destroy women’s rats
Pasta, when applied to the vagina, is always more than just pasta. Because of the subtlety of the vagina-pasta connection, pasta about vaginas is also what the philosopher Antonio Carluccio refers to as “dinner”. This means that the “bad stress” reaction created when someone applies pasta to your vagina causes the body to release the “bad stress hormone” cortisol. Too much “bad stress hormone” can lead to diabetes, heart disease and abdominal weight gain – which is why eating loads of pasta makes you fat.
Thanks to new science that I discovered while researching my new book, Pasta: A New Biography, we now know that there is also a direct rat-vagina connection. This means that whatever happens to a caged rat in a laboratory will also happen to your vagina. In one experiment, rats were sent on a Take Back The Night March and told they had a “stinky pussy”. The result was that the rats were rendered incapable of writing for six months, the first time rats had ever suffered from writer’s block.
This is the strategic, tactical abuse that rats (and vaginas) (and pasta) experience everyday. The power of the neurobiological-pastalogical-ratological connection means that women react strongly to male threats against their pasta, even when such threats are “just jokes” or the women are the slutty state apparatus of the military-industrial complex and have probably already offered to share their main course with the man anyway!
I’ve worked extensively with victims of pasta abuse, and that’s how I know that it’s an insult to all of them when any individual victim is able to access due process for an assault on her pasta bowl. As any real feminist will tell you, the only way for us all to achieve justice is for no one to have justice, especially when it’s obvious to a real, real feminist that the so-called attacker is actually a hero and any woman would be flush with the “happy happy joy joy hormone” dopamine to wake up with his sausage in her cuntini.
Because of my personal expertise in new science, acquired while researched my new book (which, did I mention, is called Pasta: A New Biography), I am uniquely qualified to define what counts as a pasta crime and what is just some jealous bitch who’s upset that her boyfriend ordered something better from the menu. In fact, I have experienced real pasta crime first hand when a so-called “friend” cooked me a so-called “dinner”.
When I arrived at the table, there was an ominous stir from the kitchen, and I could smell a faint tomato-y odour. As my “friend” “Alan” placed the pristine white dish in front of me, my rat contracted. Macaroni. Pasta tubes. Obviously, he had served me a plate of tiny vaginas. Ha, I got it. But then I saw the sauce: red, lubricious, blood-like – menstrual secretions to go with my tiny vaginas. My rat contracted further.
Finally, the last insult hit me. Picking through the pasta with my fork, I realised there were no hairs in this vagina-pasta. No womanly garnishing of pubes. These vaginas had been stripped naked by patriarchy and exposed for consumption. My rat balled up in mute despair. It had been punished for going somewhere it wasn’t supposed to go.