This isn't a blog post, or an opportunity to develop my literary craft--it's my chance to vent. I don't want to write about the few leaves that are left clinging on the broken, winter trees, and how that's a metaphor for something truly inspirational. I don't want to infuse my writing with alliteration or sensory clues. I want to infuse my writing with my anger towards men. Boys are gross. Can I just say that? Because, well, they are. Sorry. I have never been appealing to boys. My one and only claim to fame was at the 6th grade dance, where my dance card was the first to be filled, out of the whole entire grade. It was kind of a big deal. It still kind of is, actually.
But besides that one, brief moment where I was worth something to pre-pubescent little boys, I've been overlooked. Throughout High School, my many guy friends came to talk to me because they viewed me as a "mother figure." Yep, that one sure helped my self-esteem sky-rocket. And if I wasn't a mother of teen boys, I was viewed as a valuable spy in covert affairs. My best friends PAID (or bribed and blackmailed) their friends to ask me to dances, so that I could be in their dance group and get juicy gossip from their dates during their trips to the restroom. Yes, my sole reason for being asked to dances was because I had the ability to retrieve gossip from hormonal little girls. That, too, really was an aid in my confidence level.
Fast-forward to college, and suddenly boys are interested in me? Whatever. I don't believe it. However, I'm not going to stop them from taking me on dates. You see, I didn't get a cut of that money during my stint as a spy. So, I think that I deserve some reward, and if that means I get reimbursed in over-priced hot chocolate...so be it.
No comments:
Post a Comment