Girl Under Construction

-Take a bath. With candles and a book and a face mask

-Look for a new show on Netflix

-Watch videos of happy babies (or happy puppies. or kittens)

-Paint your nails

-Do that thing you’ve been procrastinating for hours

-Reorganize your room

-Find new music, make a new playlist

-Pet your cat or dog. Or your friend’s cat or dog. Or your neighbor’s cat or dog

-DIY a hair mask or a sugar scrub (I can write up some recipes if anybody wants them!!)

-Call your mom

-Sing and dance around your room to some Rihanna (or another singer that makes you feel like a boss ass bitch)

Who alway got in trouble? Me.

They would call my mother and she always came in and lectures my teachers and threatened to sue for making her miss work and treating me poorly.

She always taught my brothers to respect women. The only fights my brothers ever got in was defending women from someone else.

So naturally, I end up in the principal’s office, refusing to apologize. 

“He shouldn’t have put his hands on me and I wouldn’t have hit him!” That’s the only thing I was saying.

These people had the unfortunate luck of catching my dad at home, instead of my mom. So he comes fucking sauntering in there, like he’s Clint fucking Eastwood in some western movie and looks at me. 

“Melissa, did you punch him?” 

“Yes.” I said. 

“Why?” 

“Because he snapped my bra strap.” 

And he turns his squinty eyed glare to the principal and says, “You’re telling me my daughter is in trouble because that squirrely looking kid put his hands on her and she chose to defend herself? That’s what you are saying to me.” 

“Well, sir-” The man kind of stuttered because my dad is kind of intimidating in the quiet sort of way that kind of whispers in the back of your mind that this person could be dangerous. “Melissa did make it physical.” 

“No. That kid put his hands on my daughter. Are you saying my daughter cannot defend herself when some boy decides to put hands on her? Is that what you are teaching my girl?”