I didn’t leave my New York apartment all day. I feel bad. I hear that there are men out there who want to tell me I’m pretty and my ass has a noticeably pleasing formation to it. Because I chose to stay indoors, these poor men had to look for another woman with a posterior to treat with their particular brand of admiration.
I’m so sorry, guys. I’m so very sorry. I hope you found her. And I hope she wasn’t one of those poor women brainwashed into thinking your uninvited compliments aren’t an organic part of human interaction. I hope she giggled and loved it and maybe even said yes to a date or whatever you propositioned. I hope you both found each other lovely.
However, I will admit, a strange thing happened while I was in my apartment. I felt pretty without you. I know. It’s crazy. How in the world did I get that magical feeling of worth? No one saw my ass. I guess somehow God let me know you’re out there. Loving my ass.
I even smiled! I know you always tell me I should. Well, you’re right. It was a pleasing experience.
So, guy who has been fighting on message boards and tv interviews that you feel oppressed for being told by women they don’t want you talking to them, I hear you. I’m sorry I didn’t go out and walk around so you and I could enjoy a conversation with me holding my headphones and looking at you impatiently.
But I have faith. You’ll be there tomorrow.