It’s not you; it’s me.
I apologize in advance for my abject fear. While your kind attention does not go unappreciated by me, it is also admittedly met with trepidation & a measure of suspicion. This is not your fault. Previous representatives of your gender were either ill prepared to deal with this model or grew tired if it’s many bugs. Rather than be returned, this model simply quit working. It’s built into the code.
I just realized this is not an open letter to MEN. It’s an open letter to boys. In which case…
Holy crap, I am over you goddamn people. Seriously. If the sole content of your conversation, in person, on the phone, or tweeting is your brilliant mastery of the word “dude”, how you’re a sensitive modern guy or how ‘Call of Duty: Modern Warfare’ was life changing, move on. I will listen politely & giggle at your jokes on rare occassion, but I will never sleep with you. Unless you are screamingly hot. But I’ve found that doesn’t matter & simply leads to “What was I thinking?!” moments later in the evening when I realize I’m just as bored looking at your pretty face as I am hearing you talk about anything. And that I, a finely tuned responsiveness machine, have failed to come. So get out of my house.
I have historically complained that the feminist movement failed women because instead of obtaining equal regard for what women naturally do quite well, we are scorned for it more than ever before. If you have the audacity to be a stay-at-home mom, pretty & delightful, or even the slightest bit (unintentionally) seductive, you’re just nowhere near as much of a woman as the gal in the surgical mask, the judge’s robe, the pantsuit. If you’re “just a girl”, you are somehow betraying your gender. Rather than being celebrating for being a girl how men were once celebrated for being men, you are denigrated as a race traitor & also a crazy person.
No? You’d never do that to someone? Hah! What would you say to a woman who says “I make no purchase without his permission. It’s his money, afterall”? Oh, are you about to claim pity for that poor misguided creature? Then suck on this: I was the primary wage earner for the past eight years and I STILL asked him if I could get something. That’s how deeply ingrained my respect for his earnings were to me, because we shared a bank account.
I feel begrimed by your pity. Now I’m going to have to shower again. Knock it off.
Yes, feminism denigrated women by trying to force us all into male positions, robbed us of the choice of being stay-at-home moms (since so many are now dependent on dual incomes), and then attempt to elevate us over men by making us superproducers. Instead, we are more tired, angry, & dependent on the insipid “Does he want me?” quizzes in Cosmo than ever before. Because now that men feel they can’t communicate their desires to us any more, we have no. Fricken’. Clue.
Feminism turned men into idiots, and by idiots I mean you boy types. Many of my generation were latchkey boys who were raised by The Great Space Coaster (psychedlic inculcation of retro t-shirt admiration forevermore) and Super Mario Brothers. Admit it, you sniveling man-child; you hear the music RIGHT NOW. I know because I hear it too. But I have an excuse; I AM a 14 year old boy. Ish.
You, in your 30s, think Jack in the Box is acceptable adult cuisine because you had more pizza nights than kids of the prior generation. When I cook you something gourmet or damn close, you have utterly no appreciation because your mom took most of your meals out of the microwave or a crockpot. Newsflash: lasagna does not traditionally come out of a box; salad dressing does not come from a squeeze bottle.
Holy crap, I had no idea I was this angry.
You are woefully unequipped to handle someone whose simplest wish is to make you happy, so her every attempt is met with confused scorn. If she stops cooking, cleaning, and doing THAT for you because you don’t seem to notice either way on the first two & have been poisoned by porn acting on the last, you may develop a mild resentment or you may just stay the same. The first is unfair since you never rewarded her with affection & protectiveness, instead insisting on still calling her by her name like a business associate (because baby, kid, kitten & honey are sexist) & letting bolder male friends harass her because you figure she can handle herself OR your apathy is like daggers through the heart because her sweet attention has gone unnoticed.
She is effing sick of you and your ilk. And your ilk are everywhere.
You’re a whiny, bloated series of stains on the fabric of this nation. Sort of like that Spiderman t-shirt you insist on wearing out to DINNER for Christ’s sake. What are you, three?! And it’s your big boy Spiderman birthday?!! PUT ON A JACKET. Wear clean TROUSERS, not shorts. You are not going to the sandlot to play whiffle ball, you retard.
Holy crap, I’m angry!
Oh also? When I’m angry, don’t get huffy back like my 13 year old daughter. I am guaranteed not to have sex with you if I start thinking of you as my 13 year old daughter. Instead, fix it like a man. If for some reason you feel you have a right to dress like a toddler for a party, explain it to me like a man. Once you realize how stupid you sound, you’ll change into a sport coat & jeans at the VERY least.
Learn to grill. Stop insisting that Halo somehow made you a man. Initiate sex like a grown up. I’m not 15; you don’t have to “trick” me into it. Fix things when they break, or hire someone. Tell me what wine goes well with that. Talk to me about politics. Be man enough to say grace. Tell me there’s no way in hell you’ll sleep under that bedspread. Understand tools better than me! How hard is that?! I only took one semester of woodshop for Chrissakes!
What’s a man? Someone who’s taken responsibility for his existence & is willing to take on the responsibility for his family’s existence. No, really. That’s it. When I’m ready to date again, I will only entertain offers from men. In the meantime, flirt with me only if you think you deserve my undying devotion. If you have the slightest doubt you can’t handle it, move on to some cynical faux feminist who will play Xbox live with you & who agrees the government should take care of both your carefree, adorable arses. I want no part in your prolonged adolescence.
Why now? Why this now? I was going to write something like this (less, er, pointed) before my trip, but being out here alone & among my friends I’ve chosen has shown me my preferred lifestyle is not what I’ve been living & it sure as hell is not worth forsaking in the interest of not being alone. I thrive best in a service environment, but I don’t want to service a table full of frat guys who don’t tip. If you’re gonna slap my ass after I put a plate in front of you, you better offer to buy me a Sapphire tonic & be able to extend your discourse past the point of the last SNL Digital Short. If not, I will stop that hand before it reaches my behind and break that wrist. I am over cheap admiration.
Figuratively, figuratively. I’m not offended by such things, just don’t expect it to lead to anything, dingus. I mean, look at you. When did your mom last wash that sweatshirt?!
Gonna be single for a good long while, I’m thinkin…