Life’s not fair. 

 

*end article*

 

 

 

 

 

Ok, fine. Even though that’s the gist of basically everything I have to complain about currently, I might as well divulge my frustrations in entirety as to not leave my audience without some, as-always, dating irony. I am human, hear me rant 🙂

Our minds are beautiful things. Sometimes taking us to the most enchanting corners of insanely magnificent ideas. While other times they drop our pitiful-gutter-thoughts off at inopportune times that create a whirl wind of perverse commentary; proudly labeling us as the town hoe.

If you haven’t used the monkey with it’s hands covering it’s mouth emoji before, you probably don’t know what i’m talking about. Mouth, *insert foot*, type Freudian slips. The kind of text messages that would make your Grandma blush. You tell him it’s hard for you to trust men and he tells you he’ll ‘show you something hard’.

Game over. Her well is dry. She thinks you’re a pig.

Twenty minutes later she sends him a button-down cleavage shot with a winky face and he wants to know why CHICKS ARE SO GOD DAMN CONFUSING.

I get it, double standards times infinity. Let me break this down for you though. Since the dawn of time men have been, without a doubt, considered the more sexually charged partner in a relationship. By instinct alone, sex is on a man’s mind before he even know’s his penis is primed. More often that not, this innate desire for intimacy has proven to increasingly place pressure on women who’s fancy’s are usually tickled by less bang and more hang. But that doesn’t change what is already programmed. Something, that no matter how much he says’s he doesn’t want “just that”, is there. It’s hungry. So, when a man brings up anything correlating to sexual desire, it’s fair to assume that’s where his mind is going. Actions to follow. Because, history.

Men want immediate pleasure, not to be mistaken with instant gratification which can be found in the opposite sex. Ask any 14 year old teenage boy playing pocket pool under the table at school for his entire lunch hour. It’s mandatory. Once satisfied, men move on to pursuit. The pursuit of continued indulgence. Followed by finding out if there’s any interest beyond achieving climax.

Women however, organize differently. Interest, pursuit, pleasure.

In order for us to be pursued we have to gain interest and therefore achieve pleasure. Which equals throwing out bait that the fish will bite. What bait do men bite? Things that give them pleasure. So we are now originating our tasks by fishing with our own end game. And frankly, it feels like the only way.

If I hear that this isn’t fair one more time I’m gonna take a knife to a kitten. This is an earned fairness, in my opinion. Why do we get to talk about our nipples getting hard at the sign of an early winter, but you can’t tell us that you got a raging stiffy from a Carl’s Jr. commercial? Because, only one of us is turned on by the thought of the other’s comment.

Sometimes I ‘accidentally’ get some side boob in the picture of me asking if you ‘like my new socks?’. But when you ‘accidentally’ get your whole dick in a photo of you inquiring if I ‘love your new watch?’ NOBODY WINS. There is some sort of unsaid truth about dick pics being the most unsolicited genre in maybe the entire existence of photography. And yet, men still send them. We barely want it in our vagina’s, let alone burned into our thoughts with a sepia filter. What do we want? You to tell us that our side boob is everything you’ve ever dreamed of…and oh, our socks are cute too. #instantgratification

I get it, it’s not fair. But….life’s not. Blame the idiots before you who led with their main veins. If that’s not enough dammit, us women grow babies for almost an entire calendar year’s time. The least you can do is give us this one up.

Guys be like…


Like my new watch?!

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