love when men cry about body hair bc "it's hygiene" and yet 15% of cis men leave the bathroom without washing their hands at all and an additional 35% only just wet their hands without using soap. that is nearly half of all men. that means statistically you have probably shaken hands with or been in direct contact with one of these people.
love when men say that women "only want money" when it turns out that even in equal-earning homes, women are actually adding caregiver burdens and housework from previous years, whereas men have been expanding leisure time and hobbies. in equal-earning households, men spend an average of 3.5 hours extra in leisure time per week, which is 182 hours per year - a little over a week of paid vacation time that the other partner does not receive. kinda sounds like he wants her money.
love that men have decided women are frail and weak and annoying when we scream in surprise but it turns out it's actually women who are more reliable in an emergency because men need to be convinced to actually take action and respond to the threat. like, actually, for-real: men experience such a strong sense of pride about their pre-supposed abilities that it gets them and their families killed. they are so used to dismissing women that it literally kills them.
love it. told my father this and he said there's lies, damned lies, and statistics. a year ago i tried to get him to evacuate the house during a flash flood. he ignored me and got injured. he has told me, laughing, that he never washes his hands. he has said in the last week that women are just happier when we're cooking or cleaning.
maybe i'm overly nostalgic. but it didn't used to feel so fucking bleak. it used to feel like at least a little shameful to consider women to be sheep. it just feels like the earth is round and we are still having conversations about it being flat - except these conversations are about the most obvious forms of patriarchy. like, we know about this stuff. we've known since well before the 50's.
recently andrew tate tried to justify cheating on his partner as being the "male prerogative." i don't know what the prerogative for the rest of us would be. just sitting at home, watching the slow erosion of our humanity.
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reo loves when you pay attention to him.
it’s his life’s purpose; the reason he wakes up every morning, the only thing other than football that gives him a reason to wake up. (his words, not yours.)
he assumed it was the same for you.
which is why he’s like to know why the hell you were giggling at your phone when he was right next to you.
he calls out your name, frowning when you don’t pay him any attention.
he sidles up to you, trying to get a glimpse of your phone. his eyes widen when he sees what’s on the screen.
“what the hell?” he gasps in disbelief. you yelp when you hear his voice next to your ear.
reo rips the phone from your hands, brows knitting when he reads the very cringey line the (subpar, below average, very unattractive) guy on your screen says.
“an otome?” he slowly lifts his eyes from your screen to look at you, mouth agape. an offended gasp slips past his lips when he sees your unapologetic expression.
you sheepishly smile, “sorry?”
“that’s all you have to say for yourself?!” he cries, “‘sorry’?!”
he takes a deep breath, expression suddenly solemn, “what does he have that i don’t?”
you blink in confusion, “excuse me?”
“is he rich?” he glances at the screen, “because he doesn’t look rich.”
“in fact,” reo frowns, “he isn’t even nice looking at all!”
“he’s got a nice personality,” you pout.
“and i don’t?”
“hey!” you wrangle your phone out of his grip, “i never said that.”
“but you thought it!” he whines, “is that why you haven’t been paying attention to me at all?”
you blink at him, eyes widening in realization. a smile spreads through your lips. “reo, are you jealous?”
“like i’d be jealous of that,” he scoffs, laughing loudly. you give him a knowing smile. he crosses his arms, looking away from you.
a soft flush spreads through his cheeks like wildfire, pout quickly forming on his lips. he glances back at you, “maybe.”
“reo,” you gently touch his arm, snickering when he plops himself on top of you. “you do know i love you, right?”
he nods, nuzzling himself into you. you soothingly pat his head, “what’s wrong, then?”
“‘s just that,” he pouts, “i’ve been trying to get your attention for the past twenty minutes and you just ignored me.”
“‘m sorry,” you kiss the top of his head, “i promise i’ll pay more attention to you in the future.”
he hums contently. there’s a beat of silence.
“but,” you sigh, “you do know you ignore me when you’re watching a football match, right?”
you laugh when you feel his arms wrap around you, and he hides his face from your eyes.
“there’s a difference,” he sulks.
you smile, “if you say so.”
he huffs. there’s another beat of silence.
“you’re gonna delete that game, right?”
you snort, “not a chance, pal.”
he raises his head to glare at you, though his faux anger melts away when you press a kiss to his lips.
“fine,” he chases after your lips, smiling, “enjoy your little affair with that poor excuse of a lover.”
“i’ll think of you when we get married,” you smile against his lips.
he pulls away, letting out an offended gasp, “married?”
he smiles when you press a kiss against his cheeks. “you better delete that game after your wedding.”
“what’re you on?” you tease, “i’m still missing four more routes.”
reo feels his world crumble. he groans in despair. “you’re so mean to me.”
“i promise I’ll give you my undivided attention when i’m done.” you press a soft kiss to the corners of his lips.
“you are my favorite lover, after all.”
he smiles, resting his head against your chest, “i better be.”
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