One day, there was a girl from Wales, who tripped over her words in Spanish, who wasn’t bilingual, and who thought that if only she did a masters, and went to university in Spanish, her level in the language would be somehow “proper”. Or at least she would feel better about it.
Unfortunately, she chose to do an MA in Feminism (with a bit of Gender on the side). As we all know, things are completely fucked for women, from walking home at night, to getting interrupted constantly, to always being expected to do the jobs that society values less for free, to being told by society that we need to apologise all the time. I could go on.
Well, the masters taught her why all that shit happens, and exactly how to measure it, and instead of making her happier, it made her angrier.
“Don’t you love me anymore?” she said to her boyfriend one day.
“Not with that haircut” he said.
And so, she picked up her large, black and white bastard of a cat, and she left. Her boyfriend was more bothered about her taking the cat than he was about her, seeing as her mother had died the year before and he hadn’t wanted to come with her. He had never loved her and it was for the best that they broke up, but her life was still ruined because every day, she noticed everything. All the shit sexist stuff in the world. And everyone else told her it wasn’t real, or she was too sensitive, she was exaggerating, things were better now than before so stop whining etc. And she just wanted to smack them in their happy little ignorant faces with her burning bra and say “my back hurts. Pay me the same as a man! And don’t tell me to put smiley faces on my Whatsapps or else I look like I’m ‘angry’. And believe me when I say that a man is sexually threatening me. For fucks sake!”.
Pretty soon, she found it harder and harder to hold her tongue when there was dickery afoot. Time after time, she had conflicts with her friends stupid boyfriends/husbands, those ones that manage to bag an amazing girl just because they have a huge, throbbing, stable, salary, and a family and identity for that person to absorb as their support system, and so, one by one, her friends dropped out of her life. “See you when you’re divorced”, she thought.
The friends from the masters all disappeared. Either they were from the Basque Country and they were busy with their cuadrillas, their real friends, or they were from another town and their parents patience was running thin at financing their lifestyles, so they had to go home.
She started seeing a new boy. At first, he gave her a good seeing to. He seemed nice, almost completely unhorrible. But he did love to give his opinion about her hair. “You looked so much nicer with long hair”. Later he said: “Leave this whole Feminism thing. It’s not doing you any good. Will it get you a job?”.
The girl knew that it would actively stop her getting a job. That she would lose friends (as she already had), contacts etc., and in conforming less to traditional ideas of femininity, would be less “likeable”, whatever that means.
The girl liked dick a lot, but she realised, especially after fucking this person more than 10 times and only coming twice, that dick is not everything. She liked talking to this boy but he was always giving his uninformed opinions loudly, as if he was an expert. “Oh dear” she thought. “How can I hear this constant negativity less but still get my end away?”.
Her choices were limited. Now that she had cut her hair and stopped smiling, considerably less men sexually threatened her in the street, which of course was great, but a lot less men seemed to want to play hide the sausage with her.
Maybe it was time to have a purpose driven life.