I am a lot like a man in many ways. Except I talk more. And also, I have breasts.
But I like to talk about cars and sports. I don’t want a cat, I prefer a dog. A big dog, not one of those little ratlike creatures that seem to be so popular. Also, dogs shouldn’t wear clothes. Or anything baby pink. Nobody should wear anything baby pink.
I like to picture myself in a log cabin by a lake in a forest in the foothills of some majestic mountains. I like to work with my hands. I like tools. And gear.
So I’ve always felt at home in a room full of guys. I feel like I can just be me, and I relax and forget myself. I feel like one of the guys. Until suddenly I realize that I’m not, and I never can be. It’s like being awakened by a kick in the face.
Suddenly I see that they’re not talking to me because they want to hear what I have to say, but because they’re hoping, if they pretend to listen, they might get to take my clothes off afterwards. It’s like the dream where you find yourself naked in a room full of people.
I’m in the lions’ den, and the animals haven’t been fed. They look at me like a big chunk of meat, and I just want to hide, to disappear. To escape.
Maybe to that log cabin far away from everything and everyone…
But once in a rare while there will be somebody different. Someone who sees me and hears me and doesn’t turn into a carnivore at the first scent of meat. Who stands back and lets the animals fight it out. Who steps in and gets me away from the circus. And I get to feel like a person again.
I am not a man. But I am not a piece of meat either.
I am someone, and it makes me happy and grateful when someone appreciates that.