12

There is a whole ‘nother world that some people get to live in, and I don’t, and I’m really jealous of them. It’s a world where their developing breasts weren’t eyed up and measured every day by a population of boys who wouldn’t know what to do with them if they had the chance. It’s where they weren’t gruffly instructed “I wish you to be my son’s wife!” because they were taking coats at an embassy function, so clearly they were marriage material, at age 12. It’s a world where they weren’t felt up in the kitchen at in their home at age 12 again by a friend of their mother’s who was staying, so they slept with a pocket knife under their pillow in case he came into their room, and then later they didn’t have to hear about how he was given a New Year’s Honour for pottery. It’s a world where they weren’t sexualised by what felt like an entire itinerant population for being tall, and followed and talked to like sexual partners before they’d even had their period. It’s a world where basically women aren’t always held to blame for any sexual attack because clearly they’d asked for it by their dress, or their manner, or by being on birth control, or by not saying “No” quite loud enough because they were unconscious.

Fuck, imagine how great that world must be to live in. It’s the same super amazing world where rape culture is just a myth made up by lesbian feminazis who just like to complain. Apparently there’s a lot of people who are lucky enough to live in that world, who can’t possibly comprehend what might be offensive about naming a burger “Lolita Popper“.

You win, your world is amazing, you’re super lucky and yes, clearly I am the worst human to ever exist. Woo!

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