Dangerous Compassions

baby got sauce

content warning: discussion of misogyny

“Are you in love with that BBQ sauce?” I asked Ming.

“Yeah,” he said.  He’d put some on his rice, the superhot BBQ sauce our friend gave us when he moved away.

I’d told Ming he should give to R across the courtyard.  That sauce is too hot–get it out of your life!

I’d put butter, soy sauce, and green salsa in my rice.  Mine was delicious.  The only thing that would have improved it was nori seaweed ripped up into little pieces.  I was too lazy to find it.

“Should I be worried?” I asked.

“No,” he said.  “It turns on me every time.”  He was sniffling from the spiciness and seemed disturbed by how hot the BBQ sauce was.

“Oh.  So you’ll love it but not marry it?” I asked.

My metaphor was getting confusing.  I’ve seen men who would want someone and hate them at the same time.  It was always creepy to me, and misogynist, that violence so many men have coursing through their sexualities.

I’ve heard men complain that women are fakely beautiful to trap men, and it sounds like they see love as extortion.  The man will begrudgingly off and on perform certain things to get access to the sex.  But he’s hating that he’s chained.  So the mascara and nailpolish and all that is part of the snare they resent.

I’m not pretty enough to snare anyone.  I’m a human.  I’m not an evil banshee.  Are there evil banshees?  I’m thinking those men don’t enjoy relationship and should stop.  Well, relationship is my life.

One time Ming and I took R out to Thai food.  He got his hell curry a 10 out of 10 heat.  Then he asked for the spices and added more spice to that.  Ming and I were falling out of the booth.

And once we took R to vegan Mexican food.  I remember it like it was yesterday, but it was for his birthday two years ago.  It’s really an honor to live with very good persons who are good examples and model kind brilliance.

Wow, can I change the subject?  I’ve always hated neighborhood watch signs.  Now I love them and hate that at the same time.  I guess I love to hate them!  Now they’re funny to me, a symbol of standard racism and xenophobia.  Almost cartoonish in their ridiculousness.  I laugh so I don’t cry.

So I asked Ming to get the picture of me with the sign in the background.  This is my new shirt my friend made for me.  I feel cared for.  It’s my introvert agoraphobia covid souvenir.   I never had a shirt with the f word on it or a skull.  The newness is nice.

I’m the shady character you don’t want riding her trike in your neighborhood.  I might smile and wave, then swerve to avoid a patch of glass in the street.  Yes, happy fat women are scary.

I mean that if people see me being happy, and they realize they can be happy too, if they’re fat or however they are, then capitalism fails.  They don’t need to buy anything. 

A lot of people think I don’t deserve to be happy, that I should be a better woman than accepting myself for exactly who I am.  Well, you know what I say to them.  I love you–I hope someday you will join us.

By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

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