Fair warning. This post is very profane. Read at your own risk. 🙂
But let me explain.
I am an artist and writer. I create stuff and write stuff because that what I love to do. So, in the spirit of that, my current boyfriend attended a craft fair with me one Sunday morning to assist me with dragging all of the hats, scarves, dresses, blankets, mini paintings, and etc. that I would be selling as a vendor at the craft fair.
I must admit that coffee does not sit well on me, but, I really like coffee. So I had some coffee, which made me visibly jittery. To counteract the jitters, Boyfriend (at the time), being the sweetheart that he was sometimes, went out and bought a mini bottle of red wine (alcohol and caffeine counteract each other, alcohol removing the jittery-ness associated with caffeine intake, and caffeine, reducing the cloudiness or drowsiness associated with drinking). So, the wine removed the jitters, leaving me in a highly energetic and clear-minded state.
The craft fair went pretty well. Sold some stuff, made some new connections. So, I decided that on the walk home, calling my mother would score me brownie points in the “good daughter” section, so I called my mother.
We spoke for about 15 minutes about this and that and what is the family up to and how are you and how am I and I am fine, I’m still alive, aren’t I? and that is great, you keep it up, living is not for the weak (yes, this is a quote from Arrow) and no-that-heffer-did-not and Cousin-Turtleneck-is-pregnant-too and what-are-condoms? and darling-daughter-are-you-expecting? and fuuu–of course-not-mother-we-believe-in-the-birth-control. (forgive me, I still don’t curse in front of my parentals).
And post-call, I continued to chatter to Boyfriend (at the time) while Boyfriend (at the time) and I walked hand-in-hand and dragged the craft stuff back to my apartment when he interrupts, “I can see how girls get sick of each other; you never stop talking.”
You don’t appreciate silence. He said. Aren’t you ever just silent? He said.
I could not believe this shit.
How many of you men never stop talking? How many women restrain themselves to silence for hours? Take yoga classes, meditate in multiples, watch dramatic movies, lay your heads back during pedicures, walk your dogs, cuddle with your cats, work in offices, take lunch alone, read books, listen to music, just lay in bed and think? Oh, and write books and blogs. Like this girl over here (me, I’m a girl. haha).
We get sick of men that never stop talking. Men who don’t ever shut up. Men who sexually harass us, or hit on us, or interrupt us when we’re reading. Or call out “Hey, Sexy face!” when we’re jogging. Or attempt to initiate conversations at loud clubs, or libraries. Or interrupt our train of thought. Or tell us we should stop shopping. And “I prefer my women bare-faced.” And “Aren’t you going to put make-up on?” And “Wear those sexy shoes that I like.” and “Why would you wear those shoes if they make your feet hurt?” and “I think it’s time for you to trim your vagina again.” “Oh, you look tired today.” And, “Oh, you look well-rested.” When will all of you be silent? When will all of you learn to?
After that, I shut the fuck up and decided not to say a goddamn, mother fucking word to him for the next four hours. He was like,
“So you’re not going to talk to me?”
Me: *shrugs* *shakes head*
Can I even start on the long list of no-no’s in those two brief statements?
- he generalized “Women” (that bitch)
- men can be talkative too
I mean, do you just see a whole lot of male mimes running around in the public? No? I thought not.
- the many hours that I spend by myself, I’m silent.
- who the FUCK would I be talking to? The mother fucking cat?
He’ll see how silent I can be. When we got home he went and bought me some more wine to make up for being an asshole. I took it from him. When he said, “Give me a kiss.” I rolled my eyes at him. (At least knows how to do something right.)
BUT THEN, he said, “You’re really dedicated to being quiet,” as if he didn’t just tell me that I talked too much.
More silence from me. More eye rolls. Glaring.
He tried to grab my hands, cause he wanted me to kiss him and be “nice” again. He was surprised at my dedication to the quiet life. Apparently he was completely unaware that I knew how to shut the hell up.
- which is stupid and ignorant of him (two terrible qualities in ANY person)
So then, refusing to kiss him, I bopped him in his forehead, yanked out of his grip, went in the bedroom and slammed the door. And I took the goddamn wine. Plus, I’d found another of the mini wine bottles hiding in the plastic sack from the liquor store that he’d left dangling from the banister of the stair case. Good for me. I’ll be good and fucked up when he gets back. I thought to myself.
Now, it is time to get drunk so I can tell him about himself when he gets home. That was the plan, but because I am naturally non-confrontational, (clearly, I’m sharing with all of you and he isn’t dead) I didn’t do anything similar to my slightly drunken, angry plan. I decided that it wasn’t worth being pissy about forever, and since I had some spare cash from the craft fair, I bought us sushi instead. I wanted to do something nice for him, to show him how much I loved him even if he was a sexist jerk who didn’t deserve the pleasure of hearing my melodious voice.
Though non-confrontational, I am stubborn and dedicated, and though he did come home before midnight, I didn’t speak a single word to him until after midnight passed.
Needless to say, that relationship didn’t work out. (bye bye, asshole.) It turns out that I need a side of sensitivity with my relationships, an entree of intelligence, and a heaping dessert of hold your goddamn tongue.
Being a woman is already hard as fuck so why is it that when you give a man exactly what he asks for, he complains? I can only conclude that there are several missing neural connections between their heads and hearts, and also between their heads and tongues, or…it could just be him.