Jo
When God was handing out the hearts I skipped that line and got to the front of the brain queue. Intelligence means more to me than anything, and if being clever, loving it and flaunting that rather than my body is heartless, then so be it.
I would like to quote my all time favourite clever bitch, Jo Brand, as I think this sums up perfectly the kind of nasty smelling goo that passes for men nowadays...
"The assumption that she ain't too bright doesn't, of course, stop a testosterone onslaught. Men slime up to her frequently, pinch her, rub up against her on the Underground, murmur things about her frontage, make suggestions about sex to her. Need I go on? Let's just say she very rarely gets asked by strangers what the correct pressure for the front tires on a Bedford Rascal should be, or the equation for converting Fahrenheit into centigrade. I'd rather have a load of abuse, myself (just as well), than win rosettes from the sort of men who believe their approving eyes are essential contributions to the lives of women."
I'm heartless because I refuse to dumb myself down, and it's a big temptation living in a town with a small a gene pool as mine.
I am terribly honest, which is something that has put strains on some friendships, but I wouldn't have it any other way. I, in turn, expect complete honesty in return. I consider it extremely rude to let me go out in pants that make me look like a tub of lard trying to squeeze through a drinking straw, without telling me first. If I really wanted to avoid that situation I wouldn't have Big Macs and Heineken for breakfast, would I?
Yes! I want to read more from Real Life Heartless Bitches
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