Lost in translation?

Chilling out on my usual 10.14am train ride into the city (hardworking student-type that I am) and find myself spending most of the journey staring at a woman's chest.

Now this is not really typical behaviour on my part (honest!) but the chest in question belonged to a middle-aged Vietnamese woman who was dressed in the standard 'tidy-casual mother' attire: exactly the right length blue jeans, black undershirt with black jacket over the top and gold 'Mum Jewellery TM'.

I was staring because the black shirt under the black jacket appeared to be one of those blokey humour t-shirts. You know the kind, "my other car is a porsche', 'if you can read this the bitch fell off' ad infinitum titter titter titter. This one read 'So you're a feminist? How CUTE!'. What's more, the word 'cute' was in those fabulous pink sequin thingys that mums of a certain age are so fond of. Have to admit that it looked a little incongrous emblazoned on the chest of this particular lady but there you go, I guess there's a misogynist (or poor interpreter?) in us all.