Play Nice

by Rachel Harrison

Behind every crazy woman is a man sitting very quietly, saying, “What? I’m not doing anything.”

But the easiest way to tell who a man really is, is to injure his ego and see how he reacts.

Someday Leda will discover Xanax, and her quality of life will improve drastically. Until then, she needs to wear a night guard so she doesn’t grind her teeth to powder.

Men are all the same, Mom once told us, but it’s the ones who try the hardest to convince you that they’re good that you really have to watch out for.

“Don’t go buy coffee,” he says. “That’s why I made some. Your generation wastes so much money on coffee.” “My generation is never going to be able to retire regardless.”

Haaaaa

But I love men. I just don’t trust or respect them.

The world will drive a woman insane, then point at them and laugh.

Sometimes men are so dumb I envy them.

There’s a direct correlation between men who wear designer sweatpants and men who can’t make me come. I’ve done the unfortunate research.

He doesn’t talk to me, which I appreciate. The next person to ask me, Yeah, you like that? is getting a firm no.

Stop im dead

I don’t envy her life, but sometimes I envy her contentment in it. What must it be like to get so much out of so little?

Men are never selfish. They’re smart. Women are always selfish. You want to be single? Selfish. You’re a wife and mother and do anything other than dote on your husband and children? Selfish. I want you and your sisters to learn to take that word as a compliment. Anyone who says that to you is trying to discourage you from doing what you want. That’s how you know you’re doing something right.

I open my eyes now, anticipating nothing, an empty room. What I see are two giant pale eyes staring back at me.

If I found out a man with posters taped to his wall was giving me multiple orgasms, I might have gone into crisis.

I don’t want to die. I just want to know how it feels to fall.

Everyone in my life wants me to behave in a very specific way that’s beneficial to them, and as soon as I deviate from their expectations, it’s an issue.

Wow. I love him. I love him. “Maybe I can take you to the diner sometime. We can get disco fries and I can tell you all about it.”

I think it’s just easier to call someone crazy than it is to admit that they could be right. Easier to call someone crazy than to confront the nuance of their circumstance, than to accept the callous cruelty that exists in the world we live in, the evil out there that revels in our suffering.