Mansplaining

My adoration of men is well known. But I have a client who mansplains. I have blonde hair and a whacky sense of humour. I actually think he thinks I am dumb. I once questioned myself, am I being paranoid, too sensitive? Did I read in between the lines? Doubtful.

Strong and knowledgeable women across the globe are being mansplained to every day. I know full well I am not alone in this. The mind boggles. I have a full hearted laugh. I joke about silly things. I put on funny voices. It’s who I am. I don’t change my persona to suit him. To me that would be fake. I don’t do fake. I have often said being mature is a choice and the art of maturity is just knowing when to use it.

So - one may ask, if he irks me enough to even warrant my writing about it, why do I continue to see him? Because ~ I am not dumb. I am mature. When I need to be. I am savvy. All the time. I am a business woman who can tolerate other peoples misconceptions. Also, I know I am not dumb. I know my role in his life. I also know his temporary role in mine. I am if anything, unperturbed by one persons inkling to scatter their doubtful energy on me. Ironically I don’t even know if he is aware he does it. Even topics that I am very learned in, he will try to “teach” me something. I am never entirely sure if it is rhetorically directed or I am supposed to be in awe “oh wow thank you for explaining to me the ABCs!”

Did I need to go to University to appeal to him? Did I need to have a wall full of framed certificates stamped with a seal of approval for years of dedication and hard yakka in an academic field?

I have raised a family. I have dealt with the deaths of my parents. I have miscarried 3 children. I have bought and sold properties. Ran several businesses. Studied oodles of courses. Published books. I have been through literal hell. Picking myself up every single time. What a fool I must be. I have worked in an industry whereby the people I meet are so varied you cannot help but pick up on people. Sure - The only degree I ever obtained was the 3rd degree from my folks. But I did get something that you cannot put into a text book. I got experience. And my experience, in a word, is “people.”

I read people like a book. (Yes my darling mansplaining client. I can read.)

Ironically I can also write. Always happy to admit maths isn’t my strong suit and something about mine doesn’t always add up. But I can navigate people, their intentions and desires, their withholding information, without a compass.

Being empathic is not a word I use lightly.

I am also full of class and integrity. I would never name and shame this person. But I wonder if he knows this is about him. I also wonder if he will comment on this writing and say “man that guy sounds like a real punk” to which I will smile politely, as I know how to read people, and make the room flow in the face of adversity.

This person wants to know what car I drive. Where I live. And all the intricacies of what as escorts we reserve for ourselves. Why am I expected to hand myself over on a platter? You are here for an hour. I’m not your spouse, your wife, your concubine. I am your escort. The light hearted entertainment to keep you trudging through your existence. Because in truth, you seem to need a light hearted bit of entertainment. I read you when I met you. And every time you come to see me. Your arrogance, though seemingly subtle, wouldn’t let you recognise my sussing you out. Every time. I multi-task. While talking away I am watching you. While I give you head I am getting into yours. When I met you, you didn’t want a full on intellectual conversation. So I didn’t give you one. Maybe I would have given you one if you did. You didn’t seem to want to debate. Of which I have never backed away from, should the topic be something that garners my interest and / or, I have strong convictions about. You don’t want that though. You want a little dolly who makes you laugh. Who gives you a blow job. You didn’t want a stimulating conversation about politics, science or war.

But you did seem to want to touch my skin. To have a laugh. So I tell you. I am not dumb. I read people.

And I read you.

Like a book.

Every time.