I never knew I was a nasty woman. I am pretty certain I didn’t start out this way.
But there was the father who cheated on my mother and got another woman pregnant. He didn’t pay any child support.
There was the boy who climbed into my bed after a party and tried to have sex with me after I had already vomited 3 crap beers. Such a romantic.
Oh, and there was the guy who garroted me into an alley way and beat my head upon the pavement. Good times!
There were the men who followed me over the bridge who said, ” If you push her in the bushes, I’ll get her panties off.” Just joking, of course.
There was the boyfriend who cheated on me with my best friend. So kind.
And there was abortion doctor who shamed me while my legs were in stirrups. Such a humanitarian.
There was the man who beat me. There was the judge who told me from his big, omniscient bench that I imagined the abuse and did not need a protection order.
There was the gentleman who said I would have the perfect body if I just got rid of that little bit of cellulite near my ass.
There were the men who said, “ I don’t mind sleeping with you but I am not looking for a relationship.”
Oh, and let’s not forget the one who told me he cheated on his wife because she wouldn’t have sex with him.
Then there was the kind obstetrician who spoke to my husband like I wasn’t in the room.
There was the boss at the bakery job who said, ”Oops close quarters..” when he rubbed himself against me. Apparently, he just couldn’t wait for me to get out of the way, repeatedly.
And all those man-splainers who think a woman of 49 needs to have her opinion revised by their vomit of verbiage.
Yes. Sure. I am a nasty woman.
About the author: Karin Schott is a bookseller, librarian, writer who lives in central Maine. Follow her on her website, on Facebook and on Twitter