Do not comply in advance. Stay strong out there.
There must be an apple for me to eat somewhere.1 What is the danger in a woman? I have been looking for the answer my whole life. Girls are not so threatening. I was only six when the old preacher took off my glasses and said, why would you ever hide such pretty eyes behind these? Females are more knowable. Frank Bascombe, one of Richard Ford’s invented writers, says of his characters, my men and for the women, female characters, even as he compliments his own rendering.2 Even as the othering has already occurred. Chicks, females, girls, hotties, thots, thirst traps—these are the preferred nomenclature. But I have always been a woman. Even as a child I was a woman, ambiguously grown.
In middle school we girls were supposed to wear shorts with hems that stretched below the tips of our fingers—what could be found above them…
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