Lady and the Tramp.
I’ve always wondered if my blog was a deterrent for men. Sure, there are the few that read past the word-debauchery of my hump day posts, but for the most part I feel as if it dissuades men from ever taking me seriously. While I never intended for my writing to be a dick magnet (men don’t like to talk, what more read), lately more than ever I feel as if what women applaud on GATNB, men frown upon.
Men always say they want a lady in the streets, but a freak in the sheets. I am no lady. At least not by “traditional” standards. Ladies don’t cuss, and they don’t talk about sex – what more write in vivid detail about it. They don demure attire. They’re dainty, and soft-spken. They don’t get drunk, but they do drink tea with their pinky’s up. God forbid they have any tattoos. And I’m pretty sure a lady brushes her hair everyday.
Well. I may fucking cuss, but I know there’s a right time and place for it. I may like to fuck, but that doesn’t mean I’m fucking everyone or just anyone. My skirts might be short, but I carry myself with dignity when I wear them. Sometimes I get drunk, but I’m never sloppy. I have tattoos, but their symbolism is beyond skin deep. And I don’t own a hairbrush, but … but nothing. I hate brushing my hair.
I may not embody a sexist society’s or insecure man’s definition of a “lady,” but I’m honest, driven, respectful, and generous. Maybe I’m not a good lady, but I’m a damn good woman. And if you’re a good man? My man? I will make you proud to have me by your side, and love you with integrity. If that’s not part of what makes up a good woman, I’d hate to see what you think makes you a man.
p.s. Eff you Jeyel, I’m dainty! Hmph!