The Parasites

Being touched by a stranger and told that I was beautiful didn’t make me feel more beautiful; it made me feel unimportant. It made me feel like what I wanted – to go from home to work with a quick stop at Starbucks on the way, without being harassed – didn’t matter. What mattered most was that this man had an opinion about me, so I had to hear it whether I wanted to or not. He wanted to touch me, so I was going to be touched, by a stranger, whether I wanted it or not.

—

Why do strange men think they’re allowed to touch me? (via halifaxeten & dr-grumbles)

Dude who ran your finger down my arm at the pub last week; I WISH I’d read this first, I would’ve been able to follow through with my impulse to throw my beer in your face.

(via bitterbuffalo)