pussy
You’re not really allowed to call people pussies anymore. Or really say the word pussy for that matter. I know this because I once wore a T-shirt with the slogan ‘don’t be a pussy’ on the back (that I had obviously made myself) and a lady at the gym I was working at complained. If anyone could have done with taking the advice offered by my shirt, it’s probably her, to be honest. I do think that it’s good to try not to ruin people’s lives with possibly offensive T-shirt slogans, but also it kinda seems that these days we fucking wrap ourselves in cotton wool and then get all surprised when we are all useless pieces of shit. Not to be all ‘back in my day’ or anything, but I’m pretty sure it used to be different.
When I was a kid we got hit with the wooden spoon if we broke the rules (wasn’t abuse back then) and our mouths were washed out with soap if we swore (surprisingly this never actually happened to me). If we got an ‘A’ we’d be asked why it wasn’t an ‘A+’, and if we didn’t like our dinner then too fucking bad we’d sit at the table until either the world ended or we ate our pineapple rice. It was kind of a harsh world, but that was a good thing. The threat of the wooden spoon, soap and dinner wait-outs taught you to basically harden the fuck up. That sometimes you had to eat rice with pineapple mixed into it, (seriously why) and often life wasn’t fair (basically my childhood manifesto) and that you didn’t always get what you wanted and basically nobody gave you a pat on the back unless you actually deserved one. I vividly remember repeatedly falling off the top of the playground when I was a child, and the formidable Mr Wilson barking at me to stop crying and get back up there. Bit of a cunt TBH, but I still think about that moment when I fail a lift or something doesn’t go the way I had intended. Stop crying and get the fuck back in there. Side note; Mr Wilson was also the dispenser of the soap punishment and in retrospect a bit of a sadist probably not in line with our modern day teaching standards. I’m not sitting here in my thirties remembering the lessons I learnt from doing a half assed job or being given an A for effort though.
Maybe we need to bring back the Mr Wilson’s of the world and stop patting ourselves on the back for minimal levels of achievement. Maybe we need more hard-asses who tell us to quit being a baby and eat our fucking pineapple rice. Everyone is so worried they’ll offend someone that they are literally incapable of telling them to harden up and get back on the playground. Yeah you might fall off again, and you might hurt your vagina this time and have to be taken to the school nurse for a v embarrassing inspection, but there’s no way of actually knowing that if you don’t just keep trying. Just because you hurt your pussy doesn’t mean you have to BE one, basically. There’s many times in my life that I’ve been one, which is why I am obviously such an expert on the topic. I’ve been scared to leave my home country, to change careers, leave relationships that weren’t working, change sports and gyms…you name it, I’ve been a total bitch about it. If I really think about it though, the things that have scared the fuck out of me the most (when I’ve managed to get past them) have been the best decisions I’ve ever made. It’s not the being a pussy part that’s the real problem, it’s how long you stay in Pussyville before taking the leap. If I look back on every terrifying decision that I’ve made, my only regret is that I didn’t act sooner. As much as I hate to admit it, it’s fucking hard to deal with other people’s opinions about your life and your choices, but do you really wanna be on your death bed wondering what would have happened if you’d just followed your instincts and given way less fucks what other people thought about them? If you do, I’ve got a shirt you may need to read.
