Pages

Saturday 20 April 2013

About as foxy as roadkill

Recently, people have been trying to be nice, by telling the Woodcat that she is pretty. It feels weird. There may be some truth to their lies, at points my face has more favourable turns than others, but right now I don't feel pretty. And if I don't feel pretty, I can't look it. And I don't really want to look it. It is quite bizarre that people think all the problems in the world will be solved by the idea that boys will find you attractive and want to try and get in your knickers. It feels weird. A couple of times in the last few months I've been hit on by boys wearing a sturdy pair of beer goggles, and it's really irrelevant to me. I don't want it. I don't know how to respond to it anymore, and apart from possibly once, haven't felt a glimmer of anything towards anyone. Generally it goes like this. Boy hits on me. I think they're being friendly. It gets awkward. I apologise profusely, and we dance. But even if I were that way inclined, it would go horribly wrong. Even if they are right, if my face or personality or whatthefucksoever has some vestige of pretty about it, my body does not. So curiosity might lead to that, but only the once. And then that would be hella awkward. Because no one wants to tell you that your body is as bad as mine is. So I don't want to be pretty. It's false advertising. And my ego is battered and bruised and a little world weary right now. And I don't fucking need it.

No comments: