Done With Men, Maybe

Here are some things I’m over, now that I am in my sixties:

Spanx
stilettos
the red lip
the cat eye
dieting
one-night stands
thongs
shots of anything
waiting in line
ensmalling myself (I made it up, you get the point)
self-pity
regrets
men

I’m not completely sure, not yet, but I think, possibly, I might be done with men. Post-men. I’m heterosexual, so I mean done with them in a romantic way. In a partner-for-life way. In a he’s-got-his-dirty-socked-feet-on-my-ottoman way.

For now, I’m going to leave aside the current events of the past 18 months:  I won’t take on mansplaining, manspreading, #metoo, or any man who hides behind the phrase “fiscal conservative,” or opines about reproductive health. Not here, anyway. Yes, the political climate has contributed to my grumpy feelings. Shocker.

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