Word count: 500
Summary: Men: try to look past the society that puts pressure on you to be masculine as fuck
“You said the computer would be ready by Monday!” I yell down the phone at the useless computer repair man. “What day is it?” My sarcasm drilled through the receiver like a…drill.
“…It’s Mon--”
“Monday!” I finish off for him. “When you tell someone that something will be ready on a certain day, it should be ready, when?”
“…Uh, o-on…”
“On that day, you incompetent wanker!” My throat feels raw and the hand gripping the receiver aches. “I’ll make you a deal, okay?” My voice lightens. “If you get it done by tomorrow, I won’t twist your measly bollocks off with a pair of pliers,” I coo as my fingers strangle the phone cord.
I hang up the phone, cutting off his pathetic voice and sit back in my chair. I have asserted my dominance as a true man.
“You’re cute when you’re angry,” my wife smiles at me from the armchair in front of the desk.
I match her smile and lean forward, the chair creaks. “Say that again?”
“You’re--”
“Am I awake right now? I’m awake, right?” I stop her. “Babe, look at me.”
She does as I say.
“Guys aren’t ‘cute’,” I stand up and walk behind the chair she’s sat on, resting my hands on the back. The chair is forced back slightly. “Think,” my voice is ticking the hair by her ear, “what’s the definition of cute? Girly,” the sentence is finished for her.
“I’m sure that’s up for debate…”
“When I think of ‘cute’,” the word wriggles uncomfortably in my mouth, “I think of…little girls with big eyes, frilly dresses, babies… I’m not a baby, honey,” I confirm seriously. “I’m a man.” My voice then becomes a little philosophical. “You know those water lines on ships that measure how high the water rises? The same thing is true for me – there is a water line inside of my tear ducts and that line is buried deep inside.”
My wife tilts her head.
“Men have these, but women don’t. That’s why you’ll never see a true man cry because a pair of jeans makes them look a size bigger. Men don’t cry,” I stand in front of her, resting myself on the edge of my desk. “Therefore men are not cute.”
“…What?”
“Yes,” I feel extremely satisfied.
“What you said is not only nonsensical, it’s also extremely sexist,” she also stands. “People often make fun of men if they cry, or say something that implies feminity, but crying is natural. Emotion is not just limited to the female; being emotional if you’re a guy only means that you’re human. Hell, even animals cry.” Then the tone changes. “And crying has nothing to do with being ‘cute’, are you an idiot?”
Is this person before me truly my obedient wife? “…Are you--”
“I swear, if you ask if I’m menstruating, I won’t hesitate to mutilate your bollocks.”
She walks out, slamming the door.
…….
“Women…” I mutter, ignoring the lump in my throat.
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