Olivia Gatwood and Charming Old Dickbags

Today’s column is out. I noticed someone had left a comment at the bottom of the page this afternoon. 

I’m no fool. I realize that my surly sense of irreverent and pitch black humor is not everyone’s cup of tea. So it’s always a fun game to play, taking bets with myself over whether it will be a standing ovation or a vocal boo. 

I’m an intense person, and I’m used to getting intense reactions, in both directions. The comment at the bottom of the page was from some dude. 

“Cheerful old broad, aren’t you? Merry Christmas.”

I wanted so badly to comment back. But I won’t. I won’t do it. 

There.

I’ll be happy to tell you what I would write, though, if I were going to respond. 

Hypothetically, of course.

“Hard not to be, with charming old dickbags like you still roaming the earth.”

But I would never say such a thing, of course. 

Cheerful old broad that I am.

And men have the nerve to be puzzled at acerbic women. As if they truly can’t tell that it’s thanks to their shitty mouths. 

They’re so cute, the big dumb animals. 

I’m reminded of the final line of Olivia Gatwood’s poem. Her poem to the women on Long Island. 

“When they call you a bitch, say ‘thank you. Thank you, very much.'”

So instead of calling you a charming old dickbag, which on second thought sounds entirely too complimentary for someone like you, old man commenter, I’ll just say this:

“Thank you. Thank you, very much.”

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