Scale, don’t rate me sucka

So here we are, women, all together, all shapes and sizes, some big, some small, I say cheers to all.

And this is the world we live in. Men rarely look at us or speak to us unless we fall in the scale (men devised this degrading scale) of over 7. Those women who are who they are regardless of any acceptable scale, for the most part, possess intellect and are offended when men talk to them and seem totally obsessed with looks. If all a man can say is “you are hot” I think this is an insult to a person’s intelligence. There are women of course who base their entire existence on whether men approve of them, let us leave them behind for now. Since men only talk to women in the chance of getting laid they must, within minutes, establish that the attractive woman will indeed have sex with them. Hence the total and absolute confusion.

We want attention, we try and look hot because it makes us feel good, we want to stand out in the world, yet we are insulted about being treated as a sex object, and so the vicious circle persists. I find man’s attitude towards beauty to be horrific and deformed, a thing that the media has consistently and viciously pounded into the last two generations of man. I have seen first hand plain, unappealing men, men I would not date, sit around and judge women. Condemn the slightest imperfection. Scoff at the imperfect figure. Make rude comments that pigeonhole women into their ridiculous scale. Some teenage boys once “scaled” me as I walked by. My son was older then them at the time. Where is the Mother’s influence? Sadly it is lost amidst the raging sea of testosterone.

Men often do not see the pretty woman, the funny woman, and the delightful charming woman, full of passion and ideas, because he is looking over her shoulder, searching the room, the universe, penis in one hand and ego in the other, for the model he will never, ever find.

And that my friend's, my variety of lovely women, is truly sad.