It’s only been a couple months since the #YesAllWomen hashtag hit the Twittersphere (because of that little twit in California who shot up his campus because girls wouldn’t sleep with him on command).
But what most don’t realize is that it’s such an ongoing “Thing” for many of us.
Look, I like getting hit on. It happens more than occasionally. Hell, it happened yesterday outside Starbucks. I ain’t mad at that.
What I am mad at is the men who refuse to take the hint.
Look, I am not a dummy. I know that when a man pays you a compliment, he’s genuinely being nice. But there are some creepazoids in my life that are only saying nice things because they think that’s what they have to do to fuck you. (Which, yes it does help.)
And while I can commend some of the men I’ve encountered for their, ah, persistence … I feel like I have to blame myself. Not that I want to or SHOULD. But because they suck at taking hints and I suck at telling people to just light themselves on fire and die already.
Not that I haven‘t said it. It just takes a lot.
Like, I let people hug me a little too hard or a little too long. I tolerate them putting their arms around my shoulder or holding my hand. Look, I’m a girl. I don’t hate affectionate signs like these.
I’ve been holding out for a hero and I don’t want that hero to walk by while I’m being groped at by some close-talking fool who thinks that because he’s bought me a drink, I have to bear his children.
Or, at least get bored to death as he jackhammers me with his teeny peenie. LUCKY ME.
I am nice to everybody. But I do get standoffish because I’ve had to compromise my personal space too many times.
This is why I say no to people for two years on end. Because the one time I say yes, that means I have opened the floodgates to hell and now have to put up with constant harassment about when there will be a next time.
Or “accidental” communiques — “Ooh I was trying to reach someone else but now that we’re talking WHAT ARE YOU DOING RIGHT NOW?”
It’s hard to tell the difference between a friend and a creepazoid. So I have lately started assuming everyone’s probably out to maul you against your will. Because, that seems to be the trend.
So, I pay for my own drinks. Buy my own meals. Artfully dodge invitations. Conveniently leave my phone a mile away from where I currently am. Tolerate just enough touching until I have to go throw up somewhere. (True story. Or should I say “stories.” Because, I can vomit on command these days.)
I’m lucky I have never been violated, to my knowledge. Of course, it’s the little violations that I try not to count that add up to “OMG DANGER DANGER!” signals blaring in my brain.
On the opposite side, I wonder if I make too much out of everything. Like, no Goddess, they really don’t want you. Chill the fuck out. Everybody needs a friend.
That’s what Mom always says. Be nice. Everyone needs a friend.
Well, why does it have to be me?
Plenty of men have flat-out said, yeah, no, move along here Goddess. And I’ve respected that.
And I wish I were as good at saying, “Forget the ice bucket challenge. I challenge you to light yourself on fire.” And, moreover, having them take it seriously rather than, “Awww what a CUTE LITTLE SPITFIRE YOU ARE.”
I guess my problem now is how do you close Pandora’s box without slamming your own fingers in it?