In which t rants about men. Again.

I’m sorry.  What on EARTH makes you think I could POSSIBLY want to date you?  Or give you my phone number?  Or tell you where I live?  Or even fucking FLIRT with you?  What makes you think I’m going to react favorably when you make a relatively indecent proposal?

Do you think I don’t speak French?  Do you think I don’t see the pr0n you’re looking at?  Do you think I don’t hear your friends egging you on to ask me?

Let me illustrate my prejudices for a moment.  If you are looking at pr0n in this VERY PUBLIC cyber at 10 o’clock in the morning, you are not the type of man I’m interested.  In fact, if you have time to surf the internet non-work related purposes at 10 o’clock in the morning, that tells me that you don’t have a regular job.  Nope, not interested.  If you can’t understand why a young woman would want to avoid telling a strange man where she lives, then you’re not the man for me.  And if you can’t be bothered to even ask my name before asking me to be your girlfriend, then I PROMISE that our relationship will not last long.

UGH.  Watch out, Bénin.  Theresa’s on a man-hating rampage, and it doesn’t look to end well.

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