Dear Master of the Universe

I know your story well. It starts with something like this…”I am personally responsible for all things awesome. Have I told you about why I am incredibly important?” — Some dude.

On and on this goes. I am a woman. I am smart and accomplished and did a lot of things that one may call “impressive.” And then you appear.

Your intro goes something like this “I am better than you for the following reasons [insert something boring]. Not only that…I am also incredibly fascinating for these reasons [insert school you went to or somewhere you worked].”

Then you make a face. It’s kind of like a smirk and fake smile smeared together. At this point, you expect from me some sort of acknowledgment of your amazingness. I nod with minimal energy. “Mmm,” I say. Or maybe “Hmmmm.”

Here’s what happens in my mind. I imagine everyone I know who is more interesting than you. I remember all of the people who were kind to me. The ones who were generous.

I smile and picture everyone I know who has 1) a more informed opinion than you, 2) everyone I’ve met who has a fascinating story about life 3) people with more [funny stories, money, ideas, potential, personality, pazazz] than you could ever imagine.

Then I feel sorry for you.

I wonder if you’ve ever known anyone truly. I wonder if you have ever experienced a soul mate. I think about how lonely you must be. Mostly I am sad. Sad for you and everyone who has to endure your lectures.

Love,

Most women