I got escorted out of Target

michelleMany years ago, when I was pregnant with Duncan, I went on a shopping trip to Target with my mom.

We picked up some supplies, mostly baby stuff, and a nursing bra.

Nursing bras have little hooks that you can undo and fold the fabric away from your nipples allowing you to feed your baby.

The nursing bra I bought came in a box. I opened the box when we got to the car and discovered that the bra in the box was different than the bra advertised on the box.

So I went in to exchange it.

Only they didn’t have another bra in the style that I wanted.

Fine, a return then.

But since I had paid with a combination of a gift certificate and a credit card, Target refused to do a return for me.

I don’t know why, but this struck me the wrong way and I got upset and ACTUALLY SHOVED THE COMPUTER MONITOR that the employee was using.

I believe there was a little back and forth between the employee and I that riled me up, but for the life of me I don’t remember the details.

The employee called security who took one look at my big belly and quietly walked me to the door. With my mom following closely behind.

Oh God, the embarrassment.

Later, I called Target with an apology for the employee.

I’m telling this story because my friend Mel shared a similar story of someone heckling her at a Swap Meet and it made me think of this incident.

I just want to tell her – even nice girls can be bitches sometimes.

Sometimes I’m a bitch

michelleSo I met Richard online via Tinder.

So far, I’ve only met one decent guy on Tinder but I KEEP TRYING.

It only took 4 text messages for Richard to ask me to move in with him.

I call BULLSHIT but whatever. Who am I to ignore a man who gets “lost in my eyes and captivated by my smile?”

I politely suggested coffee or a cocktail instead of moving in together.

I ask him why Tinder says he’s 7,794 miles away and he tells me that he was in Spain supervising a hotel building project there.

Oh really?

Is this the point in the conversation where the money hungry woman latches on to the man dangling wealth in front of her?

I didn’t take the bait.

In fact, I may have mocked him a bit.

“Let me guess. . . You work at a development company with diversified real estate holdings,” I reply.

Oh dear. Even I think I sound bitchy.

He comes back with “I own the company, actually.”

Of course he does.

Blah. Blah. Blah.

I’m pretty sure this guy is going to stop texting me anytime now.

But I can’t stop myself.

It’s like he’s a cliché and I’m trapped in a romance novel only I don’t believe a word of it.

Girl meets sexy, handsome, tall global jetsetter millionaire who falls in love with her eyes and smile and whisks her away on a whirlwind romantic tour of the world.

Yeah right!

God damn, I can be a bitch sometimes.

BITCH

michelleMen just have it easier

Do I really have to explain myself?

We live in a misogynistic world and it’s so much easier to be a man (and a white man at that), than it is to be a woman.

  • Women give birth.
  • Women are typically tasked with the lion’s share of raising the kids.
  • Women get paid less for the same job that men do.
  • Women are frequently the target of violence.
  • Women are objectified (see target of violence, above).

This is no scientific discourse on women’s rights, though.

No.

It’s about the dinner I was at the other night.

Everyone was SO CONCERNED about the single man in the room. The man who had been single for less than a year.

Was there a peep about me? 10 years single and running?

Nah.

Who cares? Just another single woman.

I personally think that people PREFER me that way.

  • I date men then get ghosted.
  • I get invited to be the third wheel in a threesome.
  • Married men propose wicked things to me.

Everyone is willing to take, but no one is willing to give back.

Basically, what I’m saying is what I’ve been trying to ignore for the past decade. . . THERE ARE A LOT OF SHITTY MEN OUT THERE AND THEY’RE ALL MEETING ME.

I know. This goes against my optimistic outlook on life.

I hate to think I’m bitter.

But after that dinner, I think it’s safe to admit that I am.

Bitter, that is.

And angry.

And frustrated.

And DEFINITELY not in a good place.