John
When the universe decides to stab me in the eye with a range rover, I don't run screaming to the nearest sympathetic person and whine ad nauseum about it. I get up, pull the shifter out of my ear, box the unfeeling cosmos in the tender bits and resolve never to leave myself vulnerable to that sort of trauma again.
I judge folk by what they actually do and not what I think they're doing. Assuming that the fucktard in the next cubicle opines endlessly about his/her relationship troubles because s/he needs the validation is about as useful as cock flavored jellybeans. Declining to be sucked into the maelstrom of his/her drama, whether by gently disengaging (at first) or by giving the self-absorbed prat an earful of vitriol (if "at first" fails), is my responsibility as an adult with a spine, a brain and a few hard-won lessons in emotional maturity.
Said emotional maturity being a prerequisite to dating means shutting down whichever lame, looks-obsessed orangutan compliments my eyes and offers to buy me a drink two seconds before sliding his unwashed paws down the small of my back. I have no truck for excuses of the "But I'm a guy. That's what we do." variety since I am a guy myself and have never found the urge to grope a stranger completely overpowering my restraint.
I understand the difference between actually being respectful and merely sanitizing language. You might never use the word "fag" or "dyke" but remain a homophobic, Neanderthal knuckle-dragger.
When my friends or associates behave in ways that scream "I'm a victim! I'm helpless! Somebody save me!" I am quick to chide them for backsliding, and I expect (and cherish) the same from them.
I recognize that I am on a continuum of Heartless Bitchery somewhere between Mewling Fucktard and uber-Bitch and that it's my responsibility to continue evolving into the next, best Bitch that I can be.
Thanks for considering me.
Country: United States
Yes! I want to read more from Real Life Heartless Bitches
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