Oh no! Ouch!
Stop! Please stop squishing me.
Violence is never the answer.
I know you are struggling to understand how a feminist reading of Ulysses is even possible and baffled by the ignorance of your tutor, but please don’t take it out on me!
I’ve put up with your disrespectful behaviour for long enough, thinking, hoping you would realise the error of your ways, but clearly, that is just not going to happen.
So please, before you think I am being dramatic, let me explain why it had to come to this.
The first couple of days you had me I felt like the luckiest girl in the world. Touching your luscious lips, seven, eight times a day. I had my own special compartment in your handbag when we would venture out—I felt so close to you.
However, after the first week, the thrill started to wear off. You knew my flavour, your lips were already moisturised and this was where our issues began.
You started to leave my cap off, like it was no big deal. You broke up with Sam when he acted like it was “no big deal” not to wear a condom and now you are doing the exact same thing to me! God didn’t your parents ever teach you to treat others the way you expect to be treated. I don’t want to be dusty! Unlike you, I actually care about my appearance, about doing my job to the best of my ability and contrary to popular belief—I am not self-cleaning!
The neglect continued, you started going out more as the restrictions eased—choosing lipstick over me as it was “more suitable for the occasion.” What does that even mean?
Finally you were ready to get back on the horse with a good, old-fashioned, booty call. After weeks of not hooking up with anyone because of you know who’s disgusting behaviour… Thankfully I was the first choice for this brand of nighttime activity—because you didn’t want to look as if you were wearing any make-up, a stupid principle—but I did not argue.
Just as I was about to be reunited with you—you got a text—and the tears started. He wasn’t coming—shocker. I should have known better than to get my hopes up with your track record. Dammit, why did you have to pick such losers? I had given up hope of ever being able to do my job again.
And then…you did the unthinkable….I don’t know how much clearer I could have made it—I AM NOT FOR INTERNAL USE!
And that was that—you proclaimed to swear off “Joe Rogan fanatics,” A.K.A. the only men you’re attracted to, for good.
And as for me, I was absent-mindedly shoved into your “I want to be this person but can’t be bothered” tote bag, right next to Anna Karenina. On the bright side, at least I finally had the time to finish Tolstoy’s greatest work. “If you look for perfection, you’ll never be content”—was I asking for too much?
Days turned to weeks and I resigned myself to the fact that once winter came I would harden and that would be that. Then, one afternoon, your best friend was over and you were discussing whether Sam’s promise to watch unlimited Fleabag with you if you got back together was worth it, and more importantly what Phoebe Waller-Bridge would think of this whole situation. Mid-discussing whether you too could cum to Obama speaking she began complaining that her lips were dry and then suddenly I felt movement, you were rummaging around for me!
I emerged into the light and was catapulted across the room—heading straight towards your friend’s lips. Suddenly, I saw something, my eyes fixated on it, we were warned as youngin's about these ailments that once infected we would carry with us forever. I just didn’t ever think that you would be so careless as to expose me to one. To expose yourself to one. I guess this just proved once and for all that you truly didn’t care about me anymore.
I braced myself and moisturised her red, bumpy, COLD SORE, like a true professional.
And then once my final mission was complete, I knew what I had to do for the greater good, to protect you and any others who may have crossed my path. I cracked myself open and let my insides spill out.
It took you two days to squish me into your overflowing trash can.
And then I just sat and waited…
And waited…
Was I ever going to leave this place?
Crap… what’s that… please tell me you're not… no… you wouldn’t… get your hands off me and have some self-respect.