index | archives | notes Monday, Jun. 13, 2005 10:01 p.m. << [ Matter of Perspective ] >> I stare at my toes, painted black and red against the blue sheets of my bed. My ear is warm with the white device pressed against it, and I'm using the little girl voice; completely fucking nonconfrontational. "She's a slut." "How?" "She just is." I pause. "For sleeping with someone she was in a committed relationship with?" "I don't care." "...With someone she was in love with?" "Oh, don't give me that intent bullshit. Fucking liberal hippie scum." I wrinkle my nose in detestation of the hypocrisy that's going on. "But... you've slept with people." "That was before." "That justifies it?" "We were different people." "But then, how is she a slut?" It doesn't make any fucking sense at all. A girl who slept with a boy when they were in love is being called a slut by a guy who believes he holds the moral high ground, even though this guy has a past absolutely laden with sex and drugs. "She just is." "I don't think she's a slut..." "Well, I don't care what other people think, and if you don't like it you can just shove off." I don't say anything because we've been dancing for a good ten minutes now. Not once has he offered any sort of reason for his beliefs; offered any evidence to refute mine. There's no real point in continuing. I've covered all my bases, and he's covered all his. So I just sit, and wait for the next move. He hangs up, and the ball is in my court. This is what growing up is. Compromising. And I've got a choice here. I can call him back, or I can tell him that I'm leaving. So I guess this is goodbye. << | x | >> whatiscopyright.org