More often than none, we characterize individuals based on our past dealings with others that have no correlation or relevancy to the current people we encounter. Because the last person you dealt with accepted the minimalistic behavior you exhibited, somehow you believe everyone that follows will also. For the most part, there are myriad of others that will follow the lead, but there are a few gems that aren’t moved by what you are and represent. The promises made sound extraordinary to those stranded on a self-inflicted island with no idea that progress is merely a leap of faith away. Of course being lied to is the saving grace for the unambitious and lazy, but to a person of substance, the fables and fairytales are better suited for a child.
I’ve always been low key. The idea of blending in fascinates me. I find myself at private parties with people women and men alike bartered their self-respect for in hopes they may have the “honor” of saying “I hung out with XYZ”. [The quest for the blind’s admiration comes with a lofty price.] I always manage to get in and get out with the general salutations and witty conversation for those interested in my reality. If no one requests that of me, I am perfectly content with being an observer. Imagine this. A gaudy “baller” surrounded by women. He is caught in the matrix of helmet syndrome and those thrilled with the idea that he may just be a millionaire. In reality he is the 3rd string player for a sub par team. After joining the roster of multiple teams in the league within his first three years, he will be lucky if the latest team’s questionable acquisition isn’t for decoration of team photos. His ego is larger than life; sort of like his lower mandible. He doesn’t know you and you don’t care to know him. Perfect! And then…he slides into your DM’s.
I don’t know what irritated me more. The hoops he jumped through to find my handle or the lie he told stating he was a “fan of my work”. I do know his dismissal of me wanting to respect my relationship curdled my blood. His constant reference to money and inquiry on my womanly parts were the most insulting. I don’t need a dude to put stamps on my passport, I can do and have done that for myself. I don’t desire the previous season’s handbag to feel worthwhile. I am not that girl looking for the come up. I’m content with what I have and who I have. I don’t have father issues. Showering compliments tainted with sexual objectification isn’t my idea of admiration. Wearing a watch that Fake Watch Bustas has exquisitely explained as illegitimate doesn’t impress me. I’m not stranded on the island of struggle. I was validated as a child. I AM NOT FOR SALE. No matter how many women willingly trade morals for wet behinds and BDR’s, of all us aren’t into that. We want security not foolery. Our price is immeasurable.
It intrigues me that men, those with financial promise (or delusional enough to believe they are that dude), feel that all women can be bought for the correct price. I apologize for every trick your mother may have turned and for every girl whose back made the acquaintance of your mattress after a fine dining experience at Apple Bees. Somehow the foundation was laid that women’s worth could be monetized. Wanting a financially sound man doesn’t equate to wanting to auction self respect for the idea of “comfort”. I presume a man is inadequate in rather necessary facets of life when he uses his calling card, money, as the equalizer.
What is your short coming?