Found this one in the taz. https://taz.de/Archiv-Suche/!5711045&s=uli%2Bhannemann&SuchRahmen=Print/
The small, weak sausage
We got married last year after all. This was never intended to happen, but we didn't want to miss the fun of turning off each other's life support equipment one day.
An important advance information for the immediately following connections: Like all couples who have enough love in their hearts to want to stay together in peace as long as possible, and who also make the appropriate logistical arrangements, we both still have our own apartment. But now the first joint tax return has arrived. To my address. Also her very personal papers. Because I am the man. Germany in 2020.
I have to admit, they can still surprise me. Although I am not a denier of patriarchy and consider myself to be relatively woke - only for my age, of course - (I even know what that means), the realization of the dimension of civilizational standstill still hits me like a bomb sometimes.
The gendered staircase joke of this emancipatory medieval spectacle: Compared to her, I am completely insignificant, at least as far as tax revenues are concerned, and that is how our state measures the social value of human beings, as is well known.
I am just the fiscal appendix of my powerful wife; a tiny little sausage, incorporated, swallowed, annexed, colonized by a comparative tax and finance giant, which is manifested by the fact that I "write" for the taz as a "freelancer": she makes this witty hobby possible for me. Behind every strong woman is a weak man. I simply have to be beautiful. And stick her name on my mailbox.
Translated with www.DeepL.com/Translator (free version)