Most people would never guess I'm a Heartless Bitch; I'm fun, helpful, and usually pleasant to be around. I adore my (very enlightened) boyfriend and get along swimmingly in my mostly-male field. But woe unto the poor bastard who pats me on the head and behaves condescendingly towards me, or relegates me to note-taking in a meeting because I'm the only one in the room with a vagina, or otherwise sells me short. That poor bastard learns rather quickly that my mind is as sharp as a brand-new JA Henckels butcher knife, my tongue is faster than an F-16, and that while Mother Nature did not grant me a penis, She certainly gave me a surplus of balls. I just don't understand why society expects me to live my life through a man and his accomplishments simply because I possess a different set of genitalia, and the suggestion that "that's just the way it's always been" has made me breathe fire on more than one occasion (turning several family dinners into instant barbecues).

Country: United States

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