April 27, 2015
It’s all well and good me sitting here, telling you how to take flattering photos of your genitals, how to therapeutically deface your ex’s things and how to achieve a ‘thigh gap’ in seconds (just open your legs a bit more and eat some effin’ chocolate, babe), but the truth is that I care about you.
Believe it or not, I don’t sit here writing these things because I love GIFs (although I do fucking love GIFs), I do it because I want to help you be happy. We get a bit caught up in being happy sometimes, I think. We have this little checklist of things that will make us this elusive happy of which we speak. Maybe if we get a boyfriend, get married by a certain age, buy a house, have some kids… that’ll make us happy, right? But how long does that take? Happiness isn’t a goal to strive towards, it’s something you should be right now. Because I said so. Because your life is short and precious.
Recently, my eyes have been forcibly opened to the types of men that will not only not make you happy, but they will actually make you unhappy. They will crush your soul, ruin your life and mentally and physically hurt you and that is not on.
If you only ever take notice of one article that I write, make sure it’s this one.
The guy who cheats on you
If your significant other goes out, gets drunk and bangs some skank from town on a night out then he deserves nothing less than the kind of chlamydia that makes his dick dry up and drop off (if that’s such a thing), or for you to go all Lorena Bobbitt on his arse (well, on his junk). But you know what, we all do stupid thing when we’re drunk and we all make mistakes. We’re only human. So if your fella has a one-off that leaves him mortified and apologetic and begging you to forgive him, then there can be an argument for staying with him. We all make genuine mistakes, and the hope is that if we all forgive each other when even slightly deserving, then maybe people will forgive us in turn if we ever need it. But… but, but, but. A one night stand is one a thing, an affair is a totally different issue. It takes a special kind of see-you-next-Tuesday to repeatedly cheat on you, lie to you, sneak around behind your back and then accuse you of being crazy when you get suspicious. You have to rumble him (complete with smoking gun) before he’ll start to even slightly own up his deceit. You could forgive him, but he’s betrayed you so spectacularly, and you’ve let him. What’s the deterrent to stop him doing it again? There isn’t one because, obviously, you’ll forgive it again. Once the trust is so spectacularly fucked, that’s it. It’s gone. You’ll always be wondering where he is, if he’s telling the truth… that’s no way to live, doll.
The guy who hits you
It goes without saying that people should not hit other people, but, listen to me, no man should ever lay a finger on you. Ever. Never, ever, ever. Men hitting women is an over-used soap storyline or a movie device that helps a girl realise she’s not with her true love, right? That’s what I thought, until I got caught up in the middle of it. Men should not hurt women that they claim to care about – because how can you care about someone and then punch them like you would a man who threatened your life during a prison riot? You can’t. And if he hits you once and you don’t do anything about it, you are putting yourself in danger. What about when things aren’t going his way again? He’ll hit you again. Any deserving man will have had it drummed into him all his life that you do not hit women – least of all your own women. Dude, that’s like slashing your own tyres, are you stupid? And if he’ll hit women, he’ll hit kids if they make him lose his temper like you did that time you provoked him. But did you provoke him? No matter what you did, the answer is: no. There is nothing you could’ve done that was deserving of that fist you took to the face. Nothing.
The guy who criticises your appearance
No matter what you look like, I guarantee you will look great if you have confidence… but that won’t happen if your fella is making you feel like you need to change. We all have stuff wrong with our bodies, whether it’s a scar from a life saving operation or stretch marks because, guess what, when you were a kid you realised that chocolate was amazing and you ate a fuck-ton (I believe that’s a technical term) of it and you regret nothing. You can look at these ‘imperfections’ in two ways: you glance down at your body and decide it is irreparably ruined, or you can look at your scars as something that tells a story and your stretch marks as free lightning tattoos. Sadly, there are men out there who care about what every last inch of your body looks like. Your nose has to be the right size, your boobs should be perfect. You need a decent sized booty, but a waist no thicker than your neck. Oh, but don’t you dare say that you prefer tall guys, you judgemental bitch. Guys don’t choose to be short, you know, unlike you who decided not to put in that bit of extra effort to make sure your boobs grew perfectly symmetrical. Your fella shouldn’t be telling you to lose weight, or have any kind of work done. In fact, no one should. Fuck Jamelia, who said on Loose Women that high street stores shouldn’t cater for ‘plus size’ girls. Fuck Meghan Trainor, who reckons you need junk in your trunk for boys to like you. We have girls dying because they’re taking slimming pills they bought online as a quick fix, and y’all fat/skinny shaming left, right and centre. You should all be ashamed. If your fella doesn’t like you as you are, invite him to find someone else who meets his high standards.
The guy who controls you
If you ask a guy if your bum looks big in a particular outfit, you are inviting critique. And do you know what, maybe it does look big in this one thing, but that’s why you’re asking. For similar reasons you might ask if your top is too low, or if your shoes match your dress. You’re looking for an opinion on a particular thing, and you should be prepared for whatever kind of answer you’re going to get. However, if your bloke starts telling you that your clothes are too revealing, then hand him a copy of Vogue and tell him to mind his own business. You’re a grown woman who can dress herself. Alarm bells should also start ringing if your bloke complains about the things you post to social media, or the fact you’re texting your male friends. Maybe he’ll kick off because you dare to use something like ‘buddy’ as a term of endearment towards him. Like, he’s not your fucking friend, he’s your boyfriend. Well, guess what, bud, you’re not a condiment either. You’re not a baby. You’re not an angel. You’re a monumental bellend, if you’re kicking off about stuff like that. Don’t let anyone tell you how you can dress, who you can talk to or where you can go.
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