I know, I know, it’s been a hot minute since I’ve blogged and I’m sorry for that. I fell into a micro depressive state and thought my life was spiraling out of control, but in reality, I just experienced a series of hiccups. Financially I simply can’t seem to stay one step ahead of disaster, but by the Grace of God, Sisters, Best Friends, ex-boyfriends, I manage not to be carted off to some debtors prison or at the very least have my car repo’d. Even when I put a halt on my own dating adventures, the adventures seem to be brought to my doorstep.
There I was today, minding my own business when out of the blue, I get a random message from a POF member with a particular talent. The remarkable ability to piss me off in moments. I know that cleavage is showing in my picture, but news flash. I AM ALLOWED TO SHOW CLEAVAGE AND STILL BE RESPECTED. So I’m simply not the kind of woman you say I want to go out with you, nice rack. If a person took ten seconds to get to know me, they’d understand that fairly quickly. It would save everyone the trouble, time and wasted typing. Me and POF are no longer friends.
To be fair, though I did kind of get asked out on a date by a nice man. So I thought I’d show the world what it should look like if you actually wanted to go out with me. Contestant #1 said I had a beautiful rack. I’m not a damn deer. So I shall not be going out with said man who can’t seem to tell the difference between a female and a doe.
Contestant #2 however, has kept in conversation with me for a few weeks now. We’ve stayed in the ‘getting to know you’ zone. Never once had a sexual conversation, and he’s never once asked me what the size of my chest was. Should timing work out, I would be quite excited to go out with him.
Now I know that some people view my feminist views as out dated, but it pisses me off that I can’t embrace my body without it turning into something for a man to fodder over. I struggle with the the thought, well, I must have wanted the attention, I did post the picture with cleavage showing. Secretly I must have wanted them to comment on my chest. Sound familiar? I’m so tuned in to the way society thinks that I’ve forgotten my own rights. I’m a human being, and worthy of respect. I don’t deserve to be degraded, and I get to define what makes me feel that way.
It would never, ever occur to me to go up to a man and say those jeans are tight, nice package. I want to go out with you so I can jump right on that.
Ugh. This is me signing off with irritation.