You Shouldnt Do... That... I Started As The New Girl Started Conjuring... Something Green With Her Hands.

‘You shouldn’t do... that...’ I started as the new girl started conjuring... something green with her hands.

She fell to the ground and she hit her head on the metal toilet when she receives electric shocks. I looked at her, lying on the ground and holding her head, I took a deep breath in and got up from the bed. I knelt beside her and I took her face in my hands.

‘Are you okay?‘ I asked.

She grabbed my wrists, most likely surprised. At first, I was sure that she would push me away, but she didn’t and I could look at her small wound on her forehead.

‘That was dumb, I sure hope that you know that.’ I told her.

She didn’t answer anything, she only lifted her eyebrows, most likely repressing a sarcastic comment. I stood up when I assumed that she would be okay. Smiling at her, I flipped my hair behind my shoulder and proposed her my hand so help her get up. But she ignored it and her eyes fell on my neck, noticing for the first time the same little machine that she has around her own neck.

‘Are you a mutant too.‘ She asked.

‘Nah... I just like the fucking neck-cage.’ I answered and I winked.

She smiled at me, sending me a knowing look.

a secret code between women: are you safe? in a contact of eyes. i’m here if you need me, the littlest shift of a skirt, of an inclined head, of watching the man who is asking you to smile, bitch. you aren’t alone on the walls of restrooms, i was where you are too. the quiet doling of emergency numbers, the shelters. the space between two women in a largely empty train station. the waiting game of two women strangers who walk, quietly and quickly, to their cars in abandoned parking lots, who watch to be sure the other leaves safely. text me you get home safe. the tally marks of drinks on hidden wrists, carefully disguised as other things ever since men picked up on what it meant and used it to target the “weakest link.” 

my father tells me we have nothing to worry about. last night he sent me one of those email chains that say at the top “Safety Tips For The Women In Your Life!!!! Don’t Let Her Die!!” 

me, and the stranger on the train. she is asleep and the man is asking me who i am going home to. i feel tears pricking the sides of my eyes. i am 13 while he towers over me. he reaches out one hand, and while i don’t know how she knows, she speaks up without opening her eyes: “If you touch my daughter, sir, I will murder you.” Whatever he grumbles is lost in history, because this moment I am so grateful for the existence of other people that I cannot breathe.

I am 19 and on my phone when i become aware of a 13 year old girl is smiling nervously at a man who’s saying disgusting things. I grab her arm. “There you are, cindy,” I say, and then look at the man like he is bile. “Do you need something from my sister?” i ask, and i walk away with her. she cries later.

this is the way of things: a silent, secret web. our promise to each other that despite our differences, when it comes to the wire, we become family, instantly. the unspoken promise. i’m here. i’m watching. i’ll witness.

“Those poor boys”

“She deserves to be punished too.”

“I’m not saying I support rape, but-”

“Sorry to say - she deserved it.”

“She put herself in harm’s way”

“But if she was fingered, then that’s not rape.”

“She ruined their lives.”

it’s hilarious to me when people call historical fashions that men hated oppressive

like in BuzzFeed’s Women Wear Hoop Skirts For A Day While Being Exaggeratedly Bad At Doing Everything In Them video, one woman comments that she’s being “oppressed by the patriarchy.” if you’ve read anything Victorian man ever said about hoop skirts, you know that’s pretty much the exact opposite of the truth

thing is, hoop skirts evolved as liberating garment for women. before them, to achieve roughly conical skirt fullness, they had to wear many layers of petticoats (some stiffened with horsehair braid or other kinds of cord). the cage crinoline made their outfits instantly lighter and easier to move in

it also enabled skirts to get waaaaay bigger. and, as you see in the late 1860s, 1870s, and mid-late 1880s, to take on even less natural shapes. we jokingly call bustles fake butts, but trust me- nobody saw them that way. it was just skirts doing weird, exciting Skirt Things that women had tons of fun with

men, obviously, loathed the whole affair

(1864)

(1850s. gods, if only crinolines were huge enough to keep men from getting too close)

(no date given, but also, this is 100% impossible)

(also undated, but the ruffles make me think 1850s)

it was also something that women of all social classes- maids and society ladies, enslaved women and free women of color -all wore at one point or another. interesting bit of unexpected equalization there

and when bustles came in, guess what? men hated those, too

(1880s)

(probably also 1880s? the ladies are being compared to beetles and snails. in case that was unclear)

(1870s, I think? the bustle itself looks early 1870s but the tight fit of the actual gown looks later)

hoops and bustles weren’t tools of the patriarchy. they were items 1 and 2 on the 19th century’s “Fashion Trends Women Love That Men Hate” lists, with bonus built-in personal space enforcement

Someone: Wow you're so easy to talk to! I feel like our personalities fit so well together!

Me: thanks i made this one special just for you

The other week, I had another badminton class and my friend was still not wearing shoes and when my teacher noticed I think he died a little on the inside.

Shoes

The other day in physical education, one of my friends wasn’t wearing his shoes during warm-up. The teacher (a sexist and arrogant asshole) called us to try to teach us something about badminton, he noticed that my friend wasn’ t wearing shoes. He asked why and my friend told him that he felt more comfortable for the warm-up and that it allows him to be more performant. My teacher asked for an exemple in sports where people do that and my dumb ass friend obviously told him, like the genius he is, that some people in Kenya train for marathon shoes-less. Long story short, they argued a little, but my teacher eventually made my friend shut up and the class went on.

Eventually, the teacher was playing games against two students and he wasn’t able to reach back enough to catch the birdie and the opposite team got the point.

And that’s were my dumb friend comes in. He screamed:

‘Maybe if you weren’t wearing shoes, you would have caught the lil birdie.’

The teacher ignored him, but now I’m pretty sure that my teacher hates my friend.

I just wanted to share this story.