She laughed tolerantly at my mischief, still careful to keep a watchful eye on me. I reassured her it was all harmless and that it was likely I'd lost Rotational momentum over the trip and the Thanksgiving holiday. Not so I guess. Instead, my return from Mexico had been greeted with queries from Kentucky, a few atypically tender gifts from the Well Hung Uranian (WHU) once again on his normally scheduled back orbit and a disturbing email from one of the Sewer's former right hand men, the Chocolate Toro. Even B in his coupled state was attentive enough to send me a sweet Thanksgiving message.
I'd loyally (undeserved I know), told the Sewer how uncomfortable I was with this and was I missing something? He had of course, pooh-poohed this as just how the Chocolate Toro was and that I was no more special in treatment than anyone else. Really? He was that greasy with everyone? It didn't matter anyway, with the Chocolate Toro being at the other end of the country and my eventually fleeing the Sewer.
So I ignored it. Gone about the business of sending the Lovely Libran off, happily reuniting with New Man then alleviating an otherwise dull conference in San Francisco by strategically seating myself between Hot Lawyer Todd and Hot Lobbyist Jason, who in between them kept me quite pleasantly occupied through wilting talk of torts and damages. The Season rolled on and as Christmas came, there it was again. Yet another message from the Chocolate Toro. This time he followed it up with a friend request on Facebook. Both were ignored.
Of course, I'd already gleaned all this is likely at the behest of the Sewer. He'd done worse things so why not this? But what astounds me is the leap in logic that had to occur for the Chocolate Toro to even try. A gap I know is often bridged by a thick yet insubstantial cloud of male ego. In what realm would it have been reasonable to expect me to respond? Mordor??
The Whiny Gem had become a sort of nemesis in high school, having been part of the popular crowd, he had veto'd my welcome by informing everyone that I was unacceptable. The reason escapes me now as our contact was facile at best, but he took the time and the trouble to put his narrow minded two cents in at the time, describing me as loose and much too liberal to a rapt audience of tweenies.
He might as well have painted a bleeding scarlet "A" of guts on my chest. The school was private and Catholic, I was new to it and not even of any age where it was practical for me to be loose had I wanted to be. But it was he who had started the process of marking me.
Unfortunately, he'd later been admitted to the same college university and upon hearing my name announced in the freshman honor roll, made sure to advise people of how "back then she was dumb". He couldn't go with "loose" this time as I was sporting a somewhat conservative look and the 24 units I carried hardly jived with the party girl label. I'd endured the insults by concluding this was all connected to either one or both of two things: a small mind and/or a small penis.
Mind the latter isn't me being catty at all, as in my experience men who are endowed are much too busy sharing those endowments to be spreading rumors about little girls they've barely spoken to. He had been a fantastic way to dispel the oft misattributed male enigma, since whatever popularity he formerly held faded in his ungallant behavior.
Yet here he was after decades, trying to reach out and touch me with a Facebook finger? I was tempted to give him a finger back alright, but ignored it instead. He can't have known it, but he was instrumental in having me look beyond one of the usual reasons girls feel isolated in the secondary school experience. The norm is to have festering doubts about one's attractiveness.
Oh, I had those, for a time I even wished I looked more typically Oriental, had much darker hair and slanted eyes, something that fitted in. I didn't of course, but I couldn't doubt the way boys' eyes would linger. Instead, that as well as the unwarranted and untrue opinions he had of me eclipsed that notion. I wasn't disliked for just being different, but for being different, attractive AND strong, a combination deemed unbecoming to a young girl.
It had hurt at the time, even while I understood I was seen as threatening. A vigorous intellect is not meant to go with good sized tits, and I did not get that memo. That was a long time ago and I'd managed to stand up for myself in bits and pieces, I got better with age and experience. But now looking at both these men asking to connect now, I'm struck at the profundity of their blindness, the revision of their memories and most of all, angered by how patently underestimating they are of me. As women, we're used to versions of this behavior, we cope, we deal with it.
Because I think a good man wouldn't even have asked the question of me. A good man would've understood the basics of being a friend, regardless of gender. Most of all, I think a good man would appreciate the strength and beauty of women, and not use either as a reason to denigrate them or use them.