The trouble with it seems to me that men always either don’t want to talk to me or they really want to talk to me. But what I really think is that it comes down to me. I’m always the one they do or do not want to talk to, and that’s always the trouble.
I’m somewhat of an introvert, which is true on days when I’m feeling particularly friendly and outgoing. I’m almost never feeling particularly friendly or outgoing, so it’s almost always true that I’m mostly an extreme introvert. The word introvert means almost the same thing as conceited except I really do sometimes feel awful about it. I mostly feel awful about not feeling awful.
Anyways, where men are concerned and where I am concerned is that we can never agree whether I am conceited or not. Men will concede that I am introverted but they will never get on my side about my being conceited. They never think I am conceited because I have a sort-of attractive face and some body parts they wouldn’t mind grabbing, and they think if I was conceited I wouldn’t bother to engage them in conversation about books or praying mantises or that juice that gathers at the top of the ketchup bottle. Also I think they don’t want to ruin their chances of ever getting to grab said body parts by calling me conceited and hurting my feelings. This doesn’t make any sense to me because all of my closest friends that are men and who do not want to grab my parts know full well that I am conceited, and every man I have ever let grab my parts also accepted that fact.
I can tell that I am conceited because it bothers me both when men do not want to talk to me and when they do want to talk to me. It bothers me even more when they do want to talk to me. This is because I have a lot of thoughts. My thoughts are like precious dolls or trinkets that you play with when you’re alone but must be hidden away when other children come over to play. When men do want to talk to me I think they know I have a lot of fun toys as well as grabbing-parts and I think that they must not have a lot of toys of their own and they want to come and roughhouse and break all of mine. If I wasn’t so conceited I think it would probably be easier for me to just share.
When men do not want to talk to me, I think it’s because they assume I have nothing they want to play with, or that their own toys are better. How can they know what kind of toys I have? This hurts my feelings of course because I think I would probably very much want to get along smashingly with someone who was just as conceited as me. But it doesn’t bother me so much because I just end up feeling sad for them because I know what it’s like to be just like me.
The reason I say that the trouble is me is because whether they talk to me or not, I cannot decide whether I really want them to or I really do not want them to. I think I want both and I think that is conceited, although I don’t think anyone else really thinks that. I think in the world of non-conceited people, the world I don’t know anything about, I would probably just be considered conceited because I don’t let anyone grab my parts. But that’s just a matter of flesh and stones; it’s the thoughts that really can break.