Mom always told me the right one would meet me more than halfway.
“If he wanted to, he would.”
I didn’t really see that till I was a lot older.
I mean, men always were the ones to hit on me, sure. But I always ended up giving way more effort.
Most of the effort.
“All day, every day.
Therapist, mother, maid.
Nymph, then a virgin.
Nurse, then a servant
Just an appendage.
Live to attend him
So that he never lifts a finger.
24/7 baby machine.
So he can live out
His picket fence dreams.
It’s not an act of love
If you make her
You make me do
Too much labour.”
I see it now with the whole “I voted against you, now give me a hug” shit.
I see it in my inbox. You gave no effort, drained me, cheated on someone else to be with me, and you wonder why I am near-carefree without you?
(Calm your un-bra’d udders, Cindy. Not your concern or business. I’ve been stupid before.)
I mean, how many studies do I need to cite that single, childless women are happier than married ones?
Anyway, I had an interesting experience with a real man last week.
He comes to the West Siiiiide of Florida every year. And he did while I was on my NOLA/Key West adventure.
Which I still haven’t written about because Jesus FUCK how is tRump president-elect again?!!?!
In any event, I said if we haven’t expatriated by next year’s visit, maybe I’ll drive over and we can indulge in some libations.
He said well yeah but how about I extend my trip so I can drive over to your side of the state.
I said well now that is something to look forward to.
So, if he wants to, he will.
Yet I get “men” who couldn’t even give a quarter-ass worth of effort, sitting around wondering why nobody likes them.
“If we had a daughter
I’d watch and could not save her
The emotional torture
From the head of your high table
She’d do what you taught her
She’d meet the same cruel fate
So now I’ve gotta run
So I can undo this mistake”
Least of all, their wives.