I don’t get upset when a woman passive aggressively indicates claims on a man who merely glanced in my direction.
The false innuendo and bobbing for apples rude questionaire approach doesn’t work on me. She runs her routine list on me but I am unphased because only a weak woman beats around a burning bush raising nothing but dust particles and drama. I watch her checking me out. Scanning my nails, hair, car, clothes. Comparing my look to her list.
I’m not now, nor have I ever been, a fashionable woman. While she is miserbly assuring herself of my apparent frailties I know she will always misread my actual strength.
I worry never about her, simply because my strength can’t be polished into acrylic nails or sewn into my scalp one follicle at a time, she won’t find my womanhood inside a Michael Kors purse or walk up on the red bottom of my convictions. She can not hem my heart up by designer skirts and my worth can’t be parked in an expensive ride.
But her? Oh I’m acutely aware of her inner fear of competition; and I won’t abide by invisible rules written in lipstick stained tears of the once heart broken now vindictive.
The very absence of malice is my strength my dear.
It leaves ample space for love, life and living without the heavy bundling burden of distraction she carries about leaving her room for little else. That is the reason he glanced in my direction to begin with.
Let her strike her match against prevailing winds. I will continue building bond fires justly. But for the record, I don’t want your man. Only hurt people hurt people and I’ll have no part in those shenanigans either.