Matriarchy Now.

Super-lame, Parisian twenty-somethings on Rue du Dunkerque. Super-disgusting, lame-ass attempt at attacking and possibly robbing and maybe raping me and my friend as we walked home in our relatively safe neighbourhood in the 9ème.

No, I DON’T have “du feu,” as you sidled up on my left side and LIT your fucking Camel! And I can HEAR you giggling, lanky fuckface on my girlfriend’s right side as we look straight ahead and ignore both of you. Clearly. Obviously. With the intention of moving on and AWAY from you.

So go on up ahead of us, and let me get a look at you. Because that’s already where my mind is going.

And when we slow down and let you pass on ahead of us so I can size you up and decide which one of you I can take first, how hard I can kick with this boot, how fast I can run, what language I should scream in, WHAT I should yell (Rape? Feu? À l’aide? Help? AAGH?), if I need to gouge your eyes out with my keys, or puncture your larynx with my finger AND gouge your eyes out with my keys (which I will do no problem if provoked), and then you laugh and roughhouse 10 feet ahead and pretend to have to slow down yourselves, to WAIT for us in case we couldn’t figure out that you were going to ATTACK us, well I’m afraid I want to fucking kill you even more. Mea culpa? Yeah, right.

And now, instead of enjoying the sights and smells and sounds of our little quartier at 9:30 at night, I’m actually worried and scared about my safety, and my friend’s safety. And she, never having had this kind of experience before, is flipping out. Which makes you LAUGH. You fucking laugh at a woman’s fear. Caused by you. Bravo, big cock. Bravo.

And when you realize that we’re crossing the street because we KNOW you’re assholes and up to no damn good and you give me the FINGER and speak to me in ENGLISH because you’ve been fucking eavesdropping on me, do you really expect me NOT to respond to you and look you straight in the eye and answer right back?

So. There we have a Sunday night walk home, after a lovely day at the Musée D’Orsay, ruined. Which means more than just a ruined walk. It means I have to contemplate what all this means, because I can’t simply let this shit go anymore.

And nor should any of us.

Ultimately, is this really the way shit needs to go down? Because I can’t fucking believe it. Luckily, unfortunately, my body KNOWS how to defend itself; it did it instinctively. And that fucking sucks. And the fact that I am reduced to my animal instinct, which I would defend in court no matter what, and the fact that most likely nothing would be done by the law anyway, makes me even angrier.

It’s time, women. It’s time, men. Wake up and act for the good of your fellow humans. We can educate, we can share and we can undo this fear and this anger. It just needs to happen now, because there is more than one use for my sparkly Swarowski stilettos, and I don’t feel like elucidating you.

Fucking punks.

Matriarchy Now.

Bisous,

Holly