The Sheer Arrogance of some Women
You know what bugs me? I mean what REALLY bugs me? The arrogance of some women, that’s what. It really gets my sexy black thong in a bunch.
Couple that up with utter stupidity, a total incapacity for independent thought and the propensity to preach about her beliefs (excuse me, someone else’s belief that she’s adopted as her own) and you have one of those fucking idiotic women who you see out and about in Male’ wearing huge black drapes covering them from head to toe.
Let me back up a bit and clear things up.
I was walking to a friend’s place day before yesterday, minding my own business and being thoroughly perved at by every perv out on the road (ok, so I admit that was partly my fault since I was wearing shorts that were a bit tight, so sue me – besides I rather like the attention as long as its restrained to drooling, catcalls and ogling) when I heard someone call out my name.
I turned around but couldn’t locate the source of the voice. Just as I was about to turn back this huge black thing that looked like it had lost a fight with a clothes store (which only sold black drapes for some reason) loomed up like Titanic and said: “Hey, Shiha! It’s me!”
“Who the fuck?” I said, involuntarily backing a step.
“Subhaanallah!” the Creature from the Black Clothes Store said in a voice that did sound somewhat familiar. Probably Optimus Prime, I thought and was about to say so when she spoke again.
“Neygunutha? Mee Nadhaa ey!”
It took a few seconds, but I matched the face to the voice eventually: a classmate from back when we were in Aminiya. One of the gang, actually. One of the girls from our gang that we labeled ‘enforcers’ – and I’m not being cruel here; this is just facts – since what she lacked in brains she more than made up for with brawn and size.
We spoke a bit and she kept insisting how surprised she was that I didn’t recognize her. I had to bite back several sarcastic retorts but after the fourth time I finally blurted out in English: “How the fuck am I supposed to recognize you when you look like a goddamn ninja who’ve put on all her costumes at one go and draped the rest around her for good measure. Fuck! You’ve even hidden your eyes. It’s a goddamn miracle you haven’t been run over yet. How the fuck do you even see where you’re going? How many traffic signs have you knocked over?”
The outburst got a few looks from the pedestrians on the road and I realized we must have looked a sight: a woman in full black hijab (or whatever the fuck it is called) talking to another woman clad in what can only be called ‘scanty’ by Maldivian standards.
Long story short: I calmed down, we exchanged phone numbers (a barb from me about the evil of using mobile phones was ignored as if I had never been uttered) and parted ways. Next day she calls me up and launches into a sermon about dressing conservatively and blah blah blah… you know, the whole works, the entire fucking narrow-minded, religious nine yards.
At first I was too stunned to do anything other than listen. Here was this one-time classmate, who I wasn’t that close to begin with and who I had only met for a few minutes just the other day, giving me a sermon on fashion and sexuality. Somewhere during the 10 or 20 minute discourse on the evils of women, how utterly helpless men were to womanly charms and seduction by women who left their tantalizing tresses uncovered, and how the fires of Hell just surged up, bubbling and boiling in a frenzy whenever a woman laughed out loud, I realized what a warped opinion she had of herself and all men in general. For one thing she believed that all men were entirely incapable of thinking with anything other than their penises (ok, true in some cases, but not ALL surely) and had no self-control over any of their basic urges. For another, she apparently believed all women looked like Playboy centerfolds. And I don’t mean figuratively or in their minds.
“You know, you really have a very high opinion of yourself don’t you?” I interrupted her as she paused to take a breath.
“Ey, keekey?” she asked.
“You say that if you don’t cover yourself up from head to toe you’re going to inadvertently seduce every man around you within a one-mile radius. Now, that’s self-confidence,” I told her, building up steam. “Let me tell you something you fat ugly bitch. Even if you took off all your clothes and walked naked down Majeedhee Magu, the only effect you would have on any hot-blooded man is utter revulsion. Or maybe someone will call a zoo to tell them that a pachyderm is on the loose on the streets of Male’. What you need is not a black curtain to cover yourself but to go a diet and do some aerobics instead of stuffing your face. Then you probably might end up with something that actually requires covering up in order to keep the rabid men at bay. Seduce men with your sexual wiles, indeed. You wouldn’t know a sexual wile if you ate it.”
I realized that I was shouting into a dead phone. She had hung up.
Ok, so I realize I had missed the whole point of what she was trying to tell me but trying to shove someone’s own warped version of religion down my throat just has a way of distracting me from the issue at hand.
Back to what’s bugging me: I really hate arrogant women who have no reason to be arrogant. Now me on the other hand, that’s entirely different.
I have no problems with anyone wearing anything (or nothing) but when they begin to preach their beliefs at me, that’s something else thing entirely — especially if their reasoning is so silly and their grasp on reality so tenuous.
The whole episode reminded me of something a friend had said to me once. He said: “I have no trouble with women wearing the hijab or moonuburuga… provided those women are butt-ugly, of course.” You know you are, you pig. 😛