In which our heroine achieves total victory over mr manspreader
I went to the theatre to see Nell Gwynn by Jessica Swale. The play is a frothy mix of Restoration It Girl biography, feminist history, discussion of playwriting, flamboyant musical numbers, and occasional outbreaks of 21st century political commentary*, which was well put together and performed so I enjoyed it. Middlebrow populist feminism FTW, obv.
Unfortunately my seat was next to a seat occupied by adolf the manspreader who seemed determined to annex my legroom for the fatherland (for sausage "fatherland" read hostage "patriarchy", clearly). You should visualise him as a middle-aged white man wearing jeans and a double-vented sports jacket. He also kept glancing towards me, which I ignored with the specific form of resting bitchface which communicates the message that I will not allow the ignoree any of my attention. After the interval I returned to my seat to find the side-flap of adolf the manspreader's jacket draped over my armrest AND MY SEAT. I don't know how mr manspreader expected me to react, probably with my attention and a request for him to remove his accoutrements from MY SPACE that I had paid for, but I suspect it hadn't occurred to him that I would regard the new depths of his uncouth social faux pas with GLEE and regard it as an opportunity for vengeance against his selfish manspreading. Trying to suppress any visible signs of my GLEEFULNESS I turned my resting bitchface up to 11 and sat firmly down on MY SEAT with my arm on the armrest so that adolf the manspreader had achieved for himself the opposite of annexing MY SPACE and instead was now pinioned in place by his own selfishness... and jacket. This left adolf with two likely options, (1) asking me to move for a moment so he could retrieve his manspreaded clothing, which would have involved him acknowledging that his jacket was in MY SPACE, or (2) performing an elaborate pantomime of foolishly dropping his programme on the floor so he could lean forwards to pick it up and try to surreptitiously free his trapped jacket at the same time. It probably goes without saying that adolf opted for foolish pantomime but alas for mr manspreader he failed to unspread his clothing from MY SPACE and so remained partially pinioned for the entire second half of the play, lol. Oh, and his jacket was the only part of him that attempted to invade my space during that time as he kept his legs entirely to himself, thus proving that he could do that easily and his manspreading was merely an expression of his arseholetude. VICTORY WAS MINE (and I dedicate this victory to everyone, of any sex or gender, who has ever suffered at the hands legs of manspreading arseholes). /an anecdote ttly worth breaking several months of radio silence, lolololol
* I saw a performance in traditionally Royalist, Conservative, xenophobic Worcestershire so the pro-Brexit joke that Swale transformed into an anti-Brexit joke with a flick of her pen was probably received rather differently from a London audience reaction, lol.
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Unfortunately my seat was next to a seat occupied by adolf the manspreader who seemed determined to annex my legroom for the fatherland (for sausage "fatherland" read hostage "patriarchy", clearly). You should visualise him as a middle-aged white man wearing jeans and a double-vented sports jacket. He also kept glancing towards me, which I ignored with the specific form of resting bitchface which communicates the message that I will not allow the ignoree any of my attention. After the interval I returned to my seat to find the side-flap of adolf the manspreader's jacket draped over my armrest AND MY SEAT. I don't know how mr manspreader expected me to react, probably with my attention and a request for him to remove his accoutrements from MY SPACE that I had paid for, but I suspect it hadn't occurred to him that I would regard the new depths of his uncouth social faux pas with GLEE and regard it as an opportunity for vengeance against his selfish manspreading. Trying to suppress any visible signs of my GLEEFULNESS I turned my resting bitchface up to 11 and sat firmly down on MY SEAT with my arm on the armrest so that adolf the manspreader had achieved for himself the opposite of annexing MY SPACE and instead was now pinioned in place by his own selfishness... and jacket. This left adolf with two likely options, (1) asking me to move for a moment so he could retrieve his manspreaded clothing, which would have involved him acknowledging that his jacket was in MY SPACE, or (2) performing an elaborate pantomime of foolishly dropping his programme on the floor so he could lean forwards to pick it up and try to surreptitiously free his trapped jacket at the same time. It probably goes without saying that adolf opted for foolish pantomime but alas for mr manspreader he failed to unspread his clothing from MY SPACE and so remained partially pinioned for the entire second half of the play, lol. Oh, and his jacket was the only part of him that attempted to invade my space during that time as he kept his legs entirely to himself, thus proving that he could do that easily and his manspreading was merely an expression of his arseholetude. VICTORY WAS MINE (and I dedicate this victory to everyone, of any sex or gender, who has ever suffered at the hands legs of manspreading arseholes). /an anecdote ttly worth breaking several months of radio silence, lolololol
* I saw a performance in traditionally Royalist, Conservative, xenophobic Worcestershire so the pro-Brexit joke that Swale transformed into an anti-Brexit joke with a flick of her pen was probably received rather differently from a London audience reaction, lol.
This entry was originally posted at http://spiralsheep.dreamwidth.org/610715.html and has
comments Please comment there using OpenID.