Can You? Sure, But Can You?

Q. Can I see your boobs? 

I don’t know. Can you? (No. ~ed.)

Lord. I mean, frankly, I thought we had covered the ground when it came to questions of inane or asinine value. Not that I believe that all questions are stupid or that they aren’t worth asking. But I sure as hell hate the ones that waste my time, and just so you think it’s my time being wasted, I must come correct, my sweet pea, that it is your time that’s being a-wasted too.

Not that anyone who wasn’t directly affected by sexism thought about the time-wasting potential it has, but that’s just a side effect of the vast benefit of living a privileged existence. You live so high up on the hog that you can’t even recognize when the very thing that affects one section of the population, pretty much affects you as well. All the time wasted on ass-backwards views that not only marginalize the women in your life, but take away your humanity, and render you nothing more as a dumb-fuck, sexist asshole.

That might be harsh.

I’ll bite my tongue on the dumb-fuck, sexist asshole bit, but I do stand by my original point. Being sexist? Wastes your time equally, sweets. Rendering half the population null and void, whether by branding them cheap fantasy fuck bunny, or screaming humorless harpy, or shitty bitch with an attitude, you not only cut off your connection from actual human beings worth their salt, but you do it by voluntarily taking away your humanity. You know, the stuff that makes others look at you and know you are a complex individual with a history and as a wise man with a whole heap of humanity once said, “a multitude of layers.” You are no longer, as that wise, wise man once said, a person who is “large,” who contradicts themselves. Not even close. By being sexist? You render yourself so very small, so much smaller than you are capable of being.

I don’t blame you. It’s easy.

It’s easy to sit in default and never once challenge how very small you can be. Especially (especially) when it concerns matters that don’t seem to directly affect you. What harm in one more rape joke? One more “make me a sandwich, bitch” comment. One more, which becomes another one more, and in turn, another, and another, and another. One more becomes countless and before you know it, here you are, just another cog in the wheel of daily sexism. Congratulations. You have done absolutely nothing of worth.

So yes, my sweets. You can see my boobs if you can do the following for me.

Can you tell me what it is like to live day in and day out being judged primarily on your physical appearance, whether it be losing your job for being “irresistible” or being “too fat”? Can you then let me know what it is like when you don’t measure up to those expectations (because sweet pea, you never, ever, ever will)?

Can you answer me when asked what the most sexist thing that has ever been said to you was, only to not be able to answer, because out of all the things that have ever been directed at you, the most sexist thing was probably said behind your back, in an office backroom, or under the breath of someone who, like you, could never have the guts to say it in real life, and therefore must resort to anonymous forums, questions boxes, and Internet comments?

Can you answer me on what it is like to be sexually assaulted and then ignored or vilified, because with the way you look, you either “had it coming” or “should be grateful someone at least looked your way”?

Can you tell me what it is like to make genuine efforts towards bettering yourself and others, only to be told to shut up and throw your tits out, since that is the most important thing about you? That your mere worth is based on the price of a tight ass and a tighter pair of tits?

Can you name for me at least one of the countless of other ways women are micro-managed on their public lives, the way they take up space, the way they appear in the light for all to judge? Can you tell me something about it? Anything about it?

My sweet, if you can tell me what it is like to intimately live with one of these things, perhaps just one, I then can maybe, just maybe, show my boobs for the whole world to see.

Call it an even trade.


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