I was walking up one of my least favorite streets the other day thinking about how much I wanted a big (blue) sunhat (with big grosgrain ribbon, blue flowers and pearls) when a shockingly strapping homeless man bounded confidently before me and bellowed “Hey, honey bunny, can you give me some change?” And the wind, you see, was as biting as my retort. No. The wind, after all, was as fierce and unforgiving as the landscape of my mind. Nope. Let me try again. The wind was a menace and I was a speck. OK, what I mean to say is: I was cold, I was tired and in no humor to be browbeaten by my least favorite 50% (which is really hypocritical of me, and I’m ashamed but I must acknowledge my failings so as to transcend them, or sigh o’er) so I turned my face away dispiritedly, resignedly and resolutely which led my hulking, homeless keeper to reply with a haughty sniff: “Nice nose, BITCH.” And I understand, applaud and sympathize with all variants of man (destitute or not so) who think girls are ‘whores’ for wearing sexy dresses, or want to do babes but marry ‘Jewish virgins’ or sew up vaginas or be surprised when jobless, hat-desirous girls on empty, windy streets want to keep their money and I’ve no intention of belittling the lots of those whose mothers were assholes, whose sisters, first loves and womanly relations abused, bemocked, humiliated and made mincemeat of their manliness and so engendered a fear and hatred of all things female; a hatred made more fervent by self-loathing, as physical longing for the enemy (if these men be heterosexual) makes them feel less self-sufficient and self-controlled. Jeez! That sounds terrible! Wow! I would hate women too! Ew! Women! They taunt me with their wares, then castrate me with their… wands. And I’m sure the creepily confident homeless man who hounded me for my meager rations (money-wise) had his own rich, sorrowful, life-affirming tale into which I unhappily, inadvertently intervened a few too many seconds, but I hate that people fucking hate me and want me to cover my hair and wear burkas and pray (and give them my money)! “I’m a person; you’re a person… can’t we just… I want to get along…” And then I turned a trusty corner and bought myself my dream hat, which salved a certain wound, covered a whorish pate.