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Dear Men…

lisa

Please spare me the “I don’t like to shit talk my exes” stance if you’re going to follow it up with “but she’s crazier and fatter than I remember.” Please spare me your “I hate needy girls” speech when you text me twenty times a day. Please spare me the pubic hair jokes when your penis is so small I can’t even feel it inside me. Please spare me your comment on my friend’s ‘generic’ looks when you’re following fifty models on Instagram who look just like her. Please spare me your discomfort with my feelings when you play the banjo and sing about those feelings all day long. Please spare me your hatred for Kanye West when your life revolves around expensive shoes and pretentious posturing. Please spare me your dumb college drug tales—I will gain absolutely nothing from them, and probably respect you even less. Please spare me your “I just like to go with the flow” speech if what you really mean is I’m a lost child who also doesn’t really want you. Please spare me your thoughts on women who pass by wearing dresses in the summer—they are hot, not wondering whether or not you think so. Please spare me how much you like me when you’ve known me for five minutes. Please spare me how much you don’t like me when you’ve only known me for a month. Please spare me your apartment with its abstract artwork and hip coffee table books that you’ve never even read. Please spare me the details of your cleaning lady (the fact that she exists). Please spare me that you work in finance, but have a passion project that “makes you feel whole.” Please spare me how much you love a girl who loves to read your work. Please spare me that you were fat when you were younger, so you “get” anorexia. Please also spare me that wink you give me when revealing that your sister’s friend’s sister had anorexia—it’s an illness, not a club. Please spare me your love of whiskey, man. Please spare me how hot every actress is when we’re watching TV. Please spare me that I’m “too young for you” when the only steady elements in your life are a coke addiction and cheap chino pants. Please spare me your interest in mixology when you’re really just a bartender without a fucking clue. Please spare me your Asian fetish (fall for people because they’re people, not because their race fulfills your porny dreams). Please spare me the Nietzsche namedrop when we’re drinking at a party—I already got that you’re Ivy League. Please spare me your libertarian stance if you never read the news. In fact, spare me your thoughts on anything if you never read the news. Please spare me the self-pity related to your hopes and dreams if you do absolutely nothing to try to achieve them. Please spare me the “Should I wear a condom?” Please spare me that you want to snuggle, or make out, but don’t like me like that. Please spare me your discomfort with discussing sex in any way that’s not demeaning to women. Please spare me your Napoleon complex, and from being the punching bag for all your other flaws. Please spare me that you haven’t jerked off in a while, so might cum quickly. Please spare me that you “love how I don’t wear as much make-up as other girls,” especially when I’m wearing a deceivingly solid amount. Please spare me that your favorite movie is The Big Lebowski, or Scarface, or Fight Club. Please spare me that blank stare when I open up to you. Please spare me that you prefer me with long hair (and how you prefer me in general). Please spare me the family introduction if we are going absolutely nowhere. Please spare me your serial dating/that you can’t be alone with yourself ever. Please spare me your thoughts on my clothing—it’s not for you. Please spare me that you think that guy was hitting on you. Please spare me that you don’t read, ever, but have time for True Detective. Please spare me your reliance on texting for serious conversations (and most conversations, really). Please spare me that you don’t believe in monogamy but “have never felt this way about anyone before.” Please spare me your jokes about girls not farting—we fart a lot, and shit too when we’re feeling saucy. 

And, finally, please spare me having to ask you to spare me all of this.

Categories: Uncategorized

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