To a certain male who may or may not read this journal:
It’s nice that boys get crushes on me. Flattering. It really is.
But I hate being mooned over. I hate when people hang on my every word as if it’s something precious like a pearl. You know that one fairy tale, that whenever a girl talks a diamonds or a rose falls from her lips? Diamonds and roses are fucking sharp and pointy. Imagine talking in your sleep. I have a diamond or a rose occasionally but I’ve got my share of dead moths and pennies and leaves and crushed Coke cans too. No litter of precious jewels here, thank God.
And I really hate being put on a pedestal by men and boys.
Women are less likely to do this. Women and girls are generally a bit more grounded in their views of other women. They may see them as something special, but except in special cases, they don’t see them as divine things, whether goddesses of virginity or temple prostitutes.
There’s a reason I like women.
And goddamnit, if you’re male and not Jonathan Rhys Myers or Kenneth Branagh or certain fictional characters, including Mercutio from Romeo and Juliet and 3/4 of the cast of Firefly? Guess what. I don’t have a crush on you. Not interested.
So stop hitting on me. Stop fawning about me. Stop engaging me in conversations about topics I don’t care about, stop strutting about and distracting me when I’m working, stop putting up the metaphorical peacock feathers to try to get my pheromones pumping. It won’t work. (And don’t think I don’t notice you’re doing this. I’m not dense and you’re not subtle.)
Thank you and good night.
But I hate being mooned over. I hate when people hang on my every word as if it’s something precious like a pearl. You know that one fairy tale, that whenever a girl talks a diamonds or a rose falls from her lips? Diamonds and roses are fucking sharp and pointy. Imagine talking in your sleep. I have a diamond or a rose occasionally but I’ve got my share of dead moths and pennies and leaves and crushed Coke cans too. No litter of precious jewels here, thank God.
And I really hate being put on a pedestal by men and boys.
Women are less likely to do this. Women and girls are generally a bit more grounded in their views of other women. They may see them as something special, but except in special cases, they don’t see them as divine things, whether goddesses of virginity or temple prostitutes.
There’s a reason I like women.
And goddamnit, if you’re male and not Jonathan Rhys Myers or Kenneth Branagh or certain fictional characters, including Mercutio from Romeo and Juliet and 3/4 of the cast of Firefly? Guess what. I don’t have a crush on you. Not interested.
So stop hitting on me. Stop fawning about me. Stop engaging me in conversations about topics I don’t care about, stop strutting about and distracting me when I’m working, stop putting up the metaphorical peacock feathers to try to get my pheromones pumping. It won’t work. (And don’t think I don’t notice you’re doing this. I’m not dense and you’re not subtle.)
Thank you and good night.