Track 3: Thank You, But No

"Used to fuck with Young Thug. I ain't addressin' the shit. Caught him in my dressing room stealing dresses and shit..." -Barbie Dreams, Nicki Minaj

Dear Men in the Supermarket,

When I make eye contact with you, please look away. It's so awkward to be in the presence of a stranger that won't stop looking at me. It's not like I consider it harassment. I'm not trying to label you a pervert because you think I'm pretty. I'm uncomfortable being stared at in general by anyone, even people close to me, so imagine how I feel with you making a beeline for my irises.

Don't walk up to me on the other aisle and try to strike up conversation. My headphones are in for a reason. I am anxious. I hate shopping alone. Don't make this any weirder for me than my anxiety already does. I'm not interested. I don't want to talk. We don't like the same Powerade flavors; I'm purchasing these for someone else. Please go away. Please take your entourage with you. Please tell them to stop staring too. It's all so weird and uncomfortable.

And you, the reader, don't you dare try to blame my tank top and jeans for the reason I'm being approached. Don't you even dare. This happens all the time. It doesn't matter if I'm wearing a wig or my curly puff. It doesn't matter if my headphones are in. It doesn't matter if my stomach is showing or not. They come. They say weird things that are supposed to be flattering. They pretend they know I'm so in tune with love and nature because I'm reading.

The problem is not that they approach.....in a sense. It's how, usually. Sometimes it's a quick compliment. Those are my favorite. It's still awkward, but maybe if my day gets worse, I can think of it and smile. The quick compliments are rare. Usually it's a pull for a conversation neither of us have because we have nothing in common. Nothing. You'd know that if you knew me, but you don't know me.

I'm a woman, and you're a man. We're in the same building. Obviously I want you to flirt with me. Obviously I want you to be pushy when I'm clearly uninterested. Obviously I want you to keep making me uncomfortable because I'm a woman, and you're a man, and we're in the same building, and life is like those movies where two people can know absolutely nothing about each other, but with the man's persistence, somehow it'll work.

It's not like I'm stuck-up. I don't want you to pay my bills or get my hair done. I don't want you to be six feet tall because realistically, that would make you over a foot taller than me. I don't want you to have a new car because I get rides to/from my destinations. It's none of that. I'm just not interested. Later down the line, when I say I want a man, I am not obligated to feel bad because I rejected you.

That's like telling an AIDS patient they should've chosen herpes. It's all terminal, love.