I’m glad I’m older. I’m glad I no longer have men looking at me. Making me feel unsafe. Mostly, I am glad for the lack of attention.
I spat out my tea when I read that.
NO NO NO.
I mean, I respect the woman who wrote this and she has her reasons and every single one is valid but goddammit, I want men to look at me until the day I die.
And women too!
I never want to blend into the background. I want to be seen. And acknowledged.
On my own terms of course. Cat calls when they suit me. Wolf whistles – ugh, any time really.
And always with respect. But still, I want it.
You just like the attention, said my difficult friend.
But so what, I replied.
Don’t we all want to be seen?
And not just for our brilliant brains and our fabulous legs.
But for our sparkling personalities.
I have no intention of getting old quietly.
My shoes will never be those comfortable ones. No green cross nonsense for me. I’m going to wear coloured tights and chunky jewellery, bright lipstick, my hair will be funky and there will be glitter. In a very elegant way of course.
I want to be bright, brilliant and bold when I’m older.
And fuckable too.
I think that’s mostly all I’m trying to say, hah oops, don’t kill me but that’s the truth.
Mostly, I want to be fuckable. On my terms, of course.
Until the day I die.