Micro skirt stories

Added: Evelyne Cross - Date: 21.10.2021 10:53 - Views: 49964 - Clicks: 9745

Roughly 3 weeks to a month ago, I confirmed I was coming back to writing for good. At this time, all I knew was how much I wanted to start again. Unsurprisingly, I have not uttered a word since. Fortunately — or unfortunately, as the case appears — life happens and it gives you stories to tell.

Last Friday night, I went out. Despite the slight hangover, I was doing okay. Thankfully, it was only to be a short shift. I felt energetic, bubbly and happy. I finished by 2pm and headed straight to Cuba Dupa a festival celebrating culture in Wellington.

I spent the evening with my boyfriend, topping homemade pizzas and watching a young Shia Lebouf dig holes to build character. Lovely as it was, I may as well have gone out again. I woke up the next day feeling worse than on the Saturday. The tiredness had truly hit. Nonetheless, I made my way to work. As I walked in, everyone seemed delighted by good company and Sunday brunch.

I spied a little buba with eyes wider than his world. Everyone seemed to be in a good mood. And myself, well, I was working with people I loved. I soon forgot about fatigue— granted the several filters may have helped. I became my bubbly, happy self again. As usual at work, I endeavoured to give great service and spread positive energy. He appeared angry, so out of instinct, I responded with a warm smile.

I was gearing to redeem his negative pre-judgement. He took his time to answer, his face covered by both a sly smile and a deep, brewing anger. I struggled to read him, but my smile remained. Any trace of his suddenly disappeared completely. I stopped. Or perhaps, actually, I had.

His eyes slapped me with disdain. Tutting, he filled the silence in which I did not reply. My face burnt red. My co-worker stood not far from me, herself taken aback by his words. I had looked over several times just to see if she had heard the same. I turned around and I continued to work. I heard him say the line once more. I felt like Alice, but I was far from Wonderland.

Very quickly, I was shrinking— and this man knew it too. Just like he knew I was obligated to provide him with service. Here I stood vulnerable to his attacks. It is a moment such as this where you expect yourself to respond with some ballsy feminist statement. Even, to show him the door. Your respect for yourself should rise above any work obligations. But when you are so high, so happy and so ready to give, to be slandered comes as a complete shock. As if to refuse the sudden bad energy, you retaliate with… nothing at all. It is individuals like this very man who seek high energy in order to take advantage of it.

For he is not happy, it becomes his job to see that others are not also. They must instead be ridiculed, critiqued and humiliated for the bettering of his conscience. Disappointed, even, that your shock quietened your strength and your prowess, for the single moment they were most needed. What is perhaps worse than the incident itself comes the aftermath. Your co-workers will promise they have your back.

Your manager, the same. They do. And yet, three hundred words will be said, those 6 repeated ones will still triumph. Tears will still rise to the rims of your eyes. With gazes on you, you will beg that they are not released. Those stares are simply looking out for you. And yet, they will only make it harder to forget those 6 words. You love this skirt. You picked it up at an op-shop after a long day walking. And when you put it on in the curtain-held changing room, it made you feel good. You liked the cut. For its not the content of those words which matter to you; you do not believe them.

It is the ability of the man to criticise at all. It is silly for you to believe that simply for you can see, that you can see the whole picture. A woman is shameful for showing her body? Is that what you think? And you need to learn that the only person with agency over her own body is a woman herself. If it had something to do with you, she would damn ask. So old man, who gave you permission to judge so freely? Well, sir, I gave you a smile and kindness for free. It is not in my contract to be nice to you.

You ought to take it out of yours to be a self-righteous asshole to the likes of me. You walked in and you spat your words on me. You spat your words near my friends. You ripped my skirt off and you made me the slut. You assumed that your words apply to me. I am so much more than your words. I am the smile I turned to you with. I am the memories that brought me that skirt. I am that skirt. I am young and I am confident. I am a woman. I am a believer in civil rights. I can wear what I want.

Micro skirt stories

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