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#321 - angry man-hating bitch
04.16.2003 @ 6:11 pm

I had an epiphany on the way home today. OK, not the shining-light-of-god Religious Epiphany sort of deal. Just the insight-into-Strawburygrl's-psyche sort of deal.

Other than my husband, I've never seen a guy check me out. And I suddenly wondered for the first time if it wasn't my fault. Because sitting in my car, looking pretty in my pink kitty shoes with matching pink & black sweater (I really have to post a pic at some point - I love this outfit), I realized that I was clenching my jaw and feeling angry and indignant.

I have noticed this before, even had this sort of train of thought before. But I never really followed it for very long. You see, when I "dress up" (rarely), I feel sexy. I feel attractive. I often want to have sex just because I've dressed up and feel attractive. But I steel myself for rejection once I walk out of the house. I wear sunglasses all the time outdoors because of my sensitivity to light, but that with my angry-set jaw and naturally-frowning mouth, and suddenly I feel like a bitch rather than sexy. I even change my walk. Partly to try to walk comfortably in the shoes, partly to make it look like I know how to walk in the shoes when I don't, and partly to look like I mean business and you better not fuck with me. Quick, long strides. I'm going somewhere important, so fuck off.

I generally don't do this once I'm inside the store where I work, but once I leave for home again, it's back. Like a mask. A whole-body one. My entire body is tense. And if I'm going out, I live that way the entire time, unless we go eat somewhere that I can hide a moderate amount of myself via a booth or somesuch.

Doesn't this sound odd? I look sexy. I feel sexy. And the last thing in the world I want is for someone to find me attractive. Except, it's the MOST important thing on my mind at the time. I *desperately* want to catch a guy checking me out. I want to know that I can be beautiful in the eyes of another man. That I can be eye-candy, meat, a sexual object.

But I am convinced that no man ever will. So my instinct is to prepare for defeat. Prepare for disdain. Shield. Shell. Wall it out. Don't think about it. Don't even look around you. Don't you dare make eye contact, because any man's eye you catch will only show back his disgust or total lack of interest.

How did I get this way? What happened?

I grew up fat. And the frightening thing is, if you go back and look at pictures of me, once I hit grade school, I wasn't fat. I was usually chubby, especially in the cheeks and tummy. But I was always taller than the other kids. And surprisingly, there are a few pics of me around 4th grade where I look down-right thin. There was a short period around 5th grade where I still didn't care what I looked like, so I wore clothes that were too tight and it made it obvious that I was chubby, so I looked fat.

But once 6th grade came around and I started caring about my hair and my clothes, I did not look fat. I had boobs before everyone else. I had hips. I hid my tummy and my flabby arms. I looked down-right average.

But everyone called me FAT. F.A.T. Fatty. Heiffer. Cow. Rolly-polly. Chubs. Watermelon.

The girls stopped saying these things around the 7th grade. Girls grow up faster - I honestly believe that. It took the boys until the 10th grade when I hit high school to realize that I was a human being with feelings and they shouldn't say those things about me. At least not to my face.

So when I was hitting the stride of my sexuality in 6th-9th grade, boys treated me like shit. They all made it clear through words, looks, and actions that I was fat and ugly.

In high school, it became disdain. I was insignificant. Not worth their time. Invisible.

And yet, way back to the beginning when I first got my boobs, I started noticing the stares.

From fifth grade all the way through my Senior year in high school, boys who either didn't like me or didn't care about me, would zone out looking at my chest. Countless times, I would glance away from my homework or the teacher or some conversation, and catch some guy who hated my guts looking like a zombie. Looking at ME like a zombie. Initial reaction = fear. Fear that they were going to say or do something horribly painful. And then their reaction: they would realize I was looking at them, and they would immediately look away in either embarrassment or shame.

These weird moments never stopped the name calling, the harassment, the glares, the disdain.

And my fear turned into anger. Because even when they realized I was female, I still wasn't good enough for them to admit it even to themselves, let alone me.

Never once has Joey Tribbiani sauntered up to say, "How you doin'?" Never once has a boy looked at me with a knowing smile. In fact, the only reason why I know that these things happen to women are because I read and I watch alot of TV. And sometimes my husband's eyes fill with desire for me.

I've never seen another man's eyes look like that when they were aimed at me. Not even the other three men I've had sex with to date.

Hence the wall. The gates and locks. The shields. The stoney expression and clenched jaw.

I hate men. And my father isn't the only reason why.

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