Every Negative Stereotype of the Modern American "Woman" Rolled into One Butterball

 

First, as I was sitting at the bar enioying my drink, her Viking warrioress manjawed friend gave me an unwanted surprise "hug" from behind.  She flopped her heavy arms around my shoulders while her massive bosom pressed against the back of my head.  

 

I said,  "Don't do that," gave her a look like she dropped a nasty fart, and pushed her arms off of me.  I see her friend to my right holding up her phone to take a picture of the scene and I put my hands up while telling her "No."  She twisted her face up in a way that made three of her four chins shift perceptibly to the left.  I think she was trying to pout.

 

I ignored them and they went away.  

 

It's the one who tried taking the unwelcome picture who is the focus of this piece, and I'll get back to her in a minute.

 

At some point I began talking to this stocky local guy.  Three girls sat down at the other end of the bar, and only one was attractive.  The guy next to me said something about "lookit those beautiful babies."  I made a face and said, "Dude, only one is cute and two of them are fat."  He replied "the fat doesn't matter, they're still beautiful babies."

 

We made small talk.  I asked him the usual questions that people ask when they want to get to know someone.  He's a nice guy, but he's a waiter--so he has little status, some money, but no sex appeal.  He had a child with, and is "married" to, that awful woman who tried to take a picture of me earlier without my permission.  And this is why he defended the fat girls earlier when he said "they're still beautiful babies."

 

The ham beast came back and inserted herself into the conversation.  She tried to give me shit for not letting her take the picture, but I told her clearly that she was a stranger and her friend was being weird.  Even though I had that negative first impression of her, I'm implementing "everyone is my friend," and working on being more "open" so that I can connect with people, so I decided to talk to her and try.

 

She left me feeling dirty, like I had spent time with true evil, but also sad because there's no way she's actually happy.  

 

Here's why she's the bloated embodiment of everything the "manosphere" guys whine about the modern American woman:

 

1.  She calls her child--who she had with the guy I was talking to--"the kid."

 

2.  She pulled out her phone to ostensibly show me pics of "the kid" but while she was scrolling through she "accidentally" went through pics of her "titties" and ass hanging out in the hotel room, her on top of her "gay" friend, and her making out with the female behemoth.  

 

3.  She's fat and she has a short haircut that makes her look like a dog-mouse.

 

4.  She got knocked up by that guy and he wants to marry her but she refuses.  He calls her his "wife" and she treats him like an idiotic child.  

 

5.  She refuses to get married because of the "legal system."  Its hilarious because she was sticking to her guns on this one, and I suspected that she couldn't imagine being married to someone who wants to marry a fat piece of shit like her.  

 

6.  She was paying more attention to and showing more affection for her "gay" friend than she was her boyfriend.

 

7.  She was bragging about how much she drank.

 

8.  All of her attempts at humor involved snark or sarcasm.

 

9.  She talked over me, and, in general, was boorish and crass.  

 

10. She knows, and was gleefully rubbing it in, that women actually have all the power in the male-female relationship under the law.  

 

All of that aside, I wouldn't have bothered writing this up except that I thought I had finally broken through all of her bullshit.  This is something I've been working on for a long time--trying to turn a badly-behaving ballbreaker into a lil kitten. I've been getting better at this, and this was the first woman that I never got through to, not even a little bit.

 

I did my best to direct the flow of the conversation and steer where we were headed.  An opening presented itself for me to tell a story that is very personal and, in telling it to women, forges a strong bond between us.  Its not a usual tool-in-the-toolkit, but a story I've only told a few times in private.  When the time was right--I did not force it, I told the story.  It was she and I talking, I was making eye contact and moderating my tonality.  Its not merely a "story," because it brings up very real emotions in me and the listener.  My point in sying this is that everything was genuine and nothing was contrived.

 

For ten seconds after I finished telling the story she calmed down, was sweet, and her body language softened.  But then the diarrhea volcano that is her neck began spewing shit all over the bar.  She turned back into this willfully reckless monster.

 

I ordered another drink, and took it with me to the bathroom.