High-Maintenance

6 May

Hello friends!!!

Happy Cinco de Mayo! Did you take tonight off from running to get your drinky drink on? 

If yes, good for you!!! 

 I indulged in a Corona and a shot of Don Julio tequila…and now I’m here staring at my computer trying to paint word with the colorful conversations that were this evening.

Today I want to talk about my life between the miles. 

The conversations of today and tonight were flirtatious, some superficial while others of extreme intellectual interest. But intellectual interest may bore you…what didn’t bore me were the ostentatious remarks from a man who has to be yay tall to ride this…

Here goes.

Welcome to what you may consider a flaunty dissertation of how I think I’m the shit but really, it’s not that I am being flashy or consider myself the shit, but instead I call it self-respect wrapped in a bow of put-the-fuck-together. 

This guy had the audacity to call me and women like me high-maintenance. In one attempt to swoon me with what he thought intelligible verbosity he cauterized any interest I had (completely planotic). His foul up was followed with continued compliments about how I am put together, dressed to impress and obviously take a liking to the sweat life that helps shape my body to what it is. He asked me if my breasts were real (they were clad under a modest shirt that goes to my neck). I told him he was wildly inappropriate and he followed my comment up with his primitive rebuke, “ You’re too high-maintenance for me”. 

Umm what? I’m too high-maintenance for you? Oh honey, you never will and never would have me-high-maintenance or low-maintenance. Yes I am colorful and can wear several different hats-all women do! He is too preliterate for me. Plus he’s an asshole. Oh wait, he’s also too short. The argument was stacking up against him and it stood taller than his stature. Isn’t that embarrassing?

Forgive me but when did high-maintenance become a disparaging classification for smart women who put their best face forward, who work out for themselves, want to feel sexy for themselves all while they cope and stay composed and graceful while peripheral chaos threatens to entrap them and threatens their said composure? 

I don’t think that’s high maintenance, doll…I mean short guy. This is YOU being threatened.

It’s called being an independent, strong-willed, fierce, unapologetic female who smiles while their world is being disrupted by unfortunate events. You can put me and others in that box but not your shallow box of “high-maintenance.”

I think that using the term high-maintenance to categorize women is a crutch for weak men. Weak men who are not strong enough to handle a woman who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to do so in classy attire with stilettos that she herself wears to put her own self on a pedestal. Perhaps the trouble is that our pedestal is taller than this guy so he feels compelled to cut us down? 

Keep trying.

But I apologize (sarcastic). These heels were too expensive to be worn down by walking all over you. Additionally, if we were to walk all over said guy we’d be taken to his level and threaten the very integrity of our gorgeous 5” heels. Never would this be okay…We maintain our composure because we are too respectful of our shoes. Instead we smile and nod at gonzo comments that stem from the Napoleon complex so that the 5”  we stand tall in continue to threaten him and his Johnson.

News flash if it weren’t already clear: We aren’t looking for a man to elevate us because we elevate ourselves. We don’t have to wear 5” heels as sometimes we wear ballet slippers and we still stand taller than “him”- with pride.

Mind you, my body is mine. I choose who I want to share it with and when. It isn’t for men to ogle and it doesn’t welcome unwanted criticism.

I recognize my body isn’t as tight and perfect as I would like it to be and I don’t care how you’d like it to be.  I indulge with the foods I love, the wine that stains my lips, the tequila that stimulates my passion, and the dark chocolate that feeds my soul. I could have a six-pack but after spending hours running I’d rather have a beer or several Bavarian pretzels dipped in a heaping serving of hummus or mustard – perhaps both. That isn’t his problem and don’t tell me it is mine. This body is mine. The bodies of other women are theirs. No one has a say in how we respect our temple. If this man wants to label me or others he should remember how tall our heels stand.

However, this is the argument…when I want to add spice and feel a little sexy these assholes (from tonight) try to tear us down by telling us to desexualize ourselves because we appear too high-maintenance. This same man’s argument is also that those women who don’t care for themselves like I might do myself are overweight and unattractive. No they aren’t! Who is he to judge? Now I’m no attorney and I don’t dabble in arcane rhetoric, but is he a moron? He is going to criticize the women who care for themselves while he equally tears down the women who love themselves but don’t care as much to put their best face forward?

The question to him is, are we damned if we do and damned if we don’t try? Damned if we look high-maintenance and damned if we don’t?

Here’s another news flash: We aren’t here to satisfy him or others in a stereotypical moronic visual fantasy. The women he tears down are content and happy in their skin despite the l.b.s or lack of l.b.s that they carry. They exercise frivolity more than he exercises kindness. They exercise fairness, equality and love while he hides in the shadows of his doctorate that robbed him of any social intelligence, grace and acumen, especially with women.

The women he tears down and categorizes are people. They are individuals who have a experiences and substance – a history that he will never be acquainted with because he views women as a shell…a shell of either too high-maintenance or too low-maintenance , too perfect or too imperfect. Well he should kick rocks because he isn’t a rockstar or a neuroscientist and clearly he is an idiot to not recognize the beauty of an unapologetic woman who is doing herself and can stand tall on her own pedestal in stilettos or flats. I’m just sorry height limits him to see me or her for who I am or who she is. 

In the spirit of Cinco de Mayo, CHEERS to the women who are witty, smart, classy, sassy, smartassy, courteous, flirtatious, selfless and generous. If he chooses to categorize women, if he chooses to categorize me, he should make sure he reads the rulebook…he can’t vote unless he stands tall enough for the ride (height and men with small minds are implied here).   

Thanks for reading!

XO

Vagal

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