So, this was weird.
I'm home now, and Emory came to visit his family for a few days. I was hanging out with him when his old, old grandmother comes tottering in. She can't see my lip ring so well, so she asks, "Is that a cold sore or did Emory pop you one?"
She says this in all seriousness.
I say that, heh heh, it's neither, it's a lip peircing. Emory laughs at the notion of "popping me one" (this is radical feminist Emory, remember), and grandma turns on him, saying something like, "Why are you laughing?" He tries to explain to her that he isn't going to hit me. "Well, wait till she says something you don't like" responds grandma grimly. It's hard to explain the way she was talking, but if you were there, you might have picked up on the fact that she was essentially ADVOCATING hitting me. Kind of. It was very weird and confusing, but the bottom line is that she didn't really think there was anything, you know, wrong or unusual about him beating the hell out of me. And again, this is Emory. Of all the people on the PLANET, Emory is about the least likely...
But of course, it now comes as a surprise to no one that grandma was married to a physically abusive asshole for most of her life. A man who habitually sexually molested all of her daughters.
So she thinks men are just... like that. She thinks men just DO that. Because they're men. And when a woman "says something he doesn't like," NATURALLY he's going to pop her in the face. Even Emory. Because he's a man, isn't he?
Insane.
I want to take the people I care about and drag them to another planet with me.
**Edited Add-On A Little Later Because I Felt Like It**
This is a secret note to girl who sometimes comes over and stays in my bed:
I like you and I wish you were around now because you're funny and sweet and have a stunningly-shaped warm friendly gorgeous body. Which I am permitted to touch. You're good things. On a side note, I've noticed that I tend to babble like a moron for some reason when I try to talk to you on the phone. You're very nice for tolerating this.
I'm home now, and Emory came to visit his family for a few days. I was hanging out with him when his old, old grandmother comes tottering in. She can't see my lip ring so well, so she asks, "Is that a cold sore or did Emory pop you one?"
She says this in all seriousness.
I say that, heh heh, it's neither, it's a lip peircing. Emory laughs at the notion of "popping me one" (this is radical feminist Emory, remember), and grandma turns on him, saying something like, "Why are you laughing?" He tries to explain to her that he isn't going to hit me. "Well, wait till she says something you don't like" responds grandma grimly. It's hard to explain the way she was talking, but if you were there, you might have picked up on the fact that she was essentially ADVOCATING hitting me. Kind of. It was very weird and confusing, but the bottom line is that she didn't really think there was anything, you know, wrong or unusual about him beating the hell out of me. And again, this is Emory. Of all the people on the PLANET, Emory is about the least likely...
But of course, it now comes as a surprise to no one that grandma was married to a physically abusive asshole for most of her life. A man who habitually sexually molested all of her daughters.
So she thinks men are just... like that. She thinks men just DO that. Because they're men. And when a woman "says something he doesn't like," NATURALLY he's going to pop her in the face. Even Emory. Because he's a man, isn't he?
Insane.
I want to take the people I care about and drag them to another planet with me.
**Edited Add-On A Little Later Because I Felt Like It**
This is a secret note to girl who sometimes comes over and stays in my bed:
I like you and I wish you were around now because you're funny and sweet and have a stunningly-shaped warm friendly gorgeous body. Which I am permitted to touch. You're good things. On a side note, I've noticed that I tend to babble like a moron for some reason when I try to talk to you on the phone. You're very nice for tolerating this.
C