For a short time, I hated men.

I hated them so much that I bought a key chain at the dollar store that said:

Oh yeah, I was plenty honked off.

I had much to pull from by the age of 27, thanks to having attracted a bunch of asshats my entire courting life. Not one of them, from my first real boyfriend to my daughters biological father, had treated me with respect.

Um, sock it to me.

My father had been a good man. He treated my mother like the alpha that she is. He was a continuous role model for us kids growing up. He was always polite, full of etiquette, and besides the occasional gaseous explosion, had impeccable manners.

(This is why I can act like a lady when need be. How do you do? See?)

The day I left my ex, I swore to myself that I would never let another man treat me with such disrespect ever again. (I rarely use bodily injury anymore.)  I am proud to say that I have stuck to that promise.

Though I have let a few assholes slip through the cracks on the rare occasion.


Seriously, sometimes you can’t tell if a man is an asshole at first glance. True assholes are crafty little buggers.

Here are some common examples of asshattery:

They don’t open the door for you, and make you walk through mud puddles.

They make you clean off your own car when it snows.

They frequently talk out of their ass. (Gross.)

They are loud and obnoxious. (Ew.)

They make you carry the heavy grocery bags.

They don’t change the toilet paper roll, and never put the seat down.


*Please keep in mind that this is a mostly humorous post that is written while I am stoned. *

Thankfully, my past experiences haven’t completely skewed my view of men. There are good guys and bad guys.

(Not the ugly, though. I’m sorta shallow.)