I’m married to an LDS feminist, and it is an interesting experience. By interesting I sometimes mean threatening, terrifying, depressing, and confusing. Also thought-provoking, exciting, stimulating, and enlightening. To my knowledge, my wife has never burned a bra, painted a sign (except to harass the other team at a hockey game), or marched on Washington. She didn’t get into feminism because of delayed college-aged adolescent rebellion against authority structures or conformity to her liberal sistren. In fact, calling her a feminist in the context of this piece, without clarification, is actually a bit misleading and reductionist, because I don’t think she is primarily a feminist; I think she’s primarily a person who cares deeply and thinks carefully. And that’s why (I think she would agree–I didn’t ask her before writing this) she has become the flavor of feminist that she is.