Someone told me last night that they were disappointed in me…it is not a competition they said.
Isn’t it though?
Men get paid tons of money to compete in sports, but women play to the death. There must ALWAYS be a winner, and it must ALWAYS be you, if you have breasts.
If you doubt my logic put a somewhat in shape, employed, no criminal record, 6 inch penis man in a room with 5 women over 35 with ticking biological clocks and no wedding band and watch the fur fly.
I am being somewhat sarcastic, but the point is…women are more competitive than men.
We compete differently, but we still compete.
Men when met with their physical or intellectual equal or better will toss one another a pound and run off to the next conquest what ever that may be.
Women when met with a lesser than…who has PERHAPS one thing about them going on will struggle to erase the competition from the planet and all traces of their existence.
A friend asked a while back on a message board, how does a woman set herself apart from the competition.
My response then was I do not…I am simply so fucking awesome that the competition is light years behind me.
This was in the context of well gee there are so many women and so few ‘good’ men how do you catch that ‘good man’s’ eye?
What do I do?
Not one damned thing other than what I do all of the time.
Blessing///curse 6 of 1 /// half dozen of the other.
I am just as competitive as the next human with breasts but my competitive nature comes out in other ways….with one glaring exception….The Man.
Once I figured out what I was doing while out there in the dating world, and in the sexual world, I stopped competing with other women in that arena.
It was a waste of time for all of us.
My logic was the man NOT interested was simply trying to overdose on the low hanging fruit, and the man who WAS interested could only see me.
If you don’t want me, I don’t care because I have who I want. Would it be nice to be reminded how utterly fucking spectacular I am? Yes, and I get it daily from someone that I think is just as fucking spectacular.
I am not out there in competition for attention.
I compete over other things but not men.
Last night when I wanted to spike the football and go AHA! Hit my dougie & smoke a Cuban….I was “reminded” that it is not a competition, or should not be.
I agreed to not gloat in a public manner, but it IS a competition.
The trophy matters. Football may have the Lombardi Trophy, but 53 players can not imagine the chest bursting pride that comes from a woman with a victory.
There is a secret part of us – implanted deeply in our uterus – that makes even the best of us pump our fists in the air when we think we have won.
Now sometimes we feel bad about it after — but the air is disturbed none the less.
As I did my victory running man in the bedroom last night – a question came up that I did not have the answer to – and still do not as this gets written.
What if it is not who you think it was? What if it was _____?
It never occurred to me that it could be the name mentioned to me….that would implicate a psychosis I SHOULD have seen, did not see, and now feel like Anna Nicole Smith at the AMA’s because well I should know better.
Is it possible? Anything is possible….I did not always believe that anything was possible but I do these days.
Is it likely? Ya know…..I actually give it 60/40 odds that it is.
My “spidey sense” started tingling about one particular line in the thing, that the person most likely thought would go unnoticed. But I notice just about everything….I just rarely comment.
I would like to think that rather than go to the extreme that they went to it would have been simpler to come at me directly….but in a world where I have no competition, I also have no peers.
People just don’t square up anymore…they are drunk off keyboard courage.