Not My Kind of Hero

by Pippa Grant

And I like it. “Mr. Jackson, has it ever occurred to you that when a woman dresses up, she’s doing it to feel good about herself, and your opinion matters for less than zero? I just divorced a man who had no respect for me or his daughter. What in the actual hell makes you think I’d try to seduce you? What makes you worthy? This?” She waves a hand at me exactly as I was waving a hand at her a moment ago. And I shrink. I shrink. She doesn’t notice, or if she does, she clearly thinks it’s not enough. “This? You? You come in a very nice package. Ooh, muscles. And floppy bedhead hair. And a beard and tattoos and a glower. So irresistible. Let me be frank, Mr. Jackson. While it was incredibly kind of you to help us with the bear and the cow and my hair, you clearly don’t like me. I’m working very hard on having enough respect for myself to only have people in my life who are willing to appreciate me too. I’m here meeting teachers and handing out cherry crisps for Junie. And that’s it.”