Dear Sharon,
A male friend pointed out to me this week that is a universally truth widely know that women hate you. This is a male friend that's a big fan of yours, by the way.
My first thought was, no they don't.
I don't.
Then I thought about it.
You're hot. You're sexy. You're smart. And, you've got legs that go on for miles.
If I had a friend like that, I'd hate them.
And, even though we're not friends (sidenote: if you're taking applications for friends, I could totally get over all this petty hatred), Yes, I do hate you.
Wait, no I don't. That's silly.
Ya. Ya, I do.
After a lot of thought, several cocktails, a long therapeutic examination of myself, then a convo my neighbor, Normal Lesbian Psychic, (I think you'd like her) I know exactly why I, and a league of women, hate you.
We want to be you.
Since women were intimately introduced to you, your severe good looks and your anatomy in Basic Instinct, there has been a sneer and snide comment that accompany any mention of your name. Here's why. Women everywhere are insanely jealous of your fearlessness. And your legs.
Jesus. Your legs. They're miles long. Women dream of taking them off your body and fusing them on theirs. At least I do. Look at what you can do with them. Anyway, back to the subject...apologies, was totally distracted by your legs. You really nailed it with Catherine Trammel, the bi-sexual psychologist/novelist/alleged murderess.
"What are you gonna do? Arrest me for smoking?"
"What was your relationship with (whatever the guy's name is)?"
"I had sex with him for about a year and a half."
WOW.
I know you didn't write that, Sharon, but jeeeesus. Way to execute bluntness. It made me hate you.
In fact this entire scene did.
I've figured out why.
I want to do that. I want to talk like that.
I want to wear a white dress, completely dismantle a room of men with my eyes, and vindicate
myself with nothing more than my sly smile.
I freaking want to uncross and re-cross my legs like that. But damnit, Sharon, I'm not
as brave as you. You must know there are support groups devoted to empowering
women to become comfortable with and actually look at their vaginas. Oh yes.
There are. It takes some women years to even say the word "vagina", yet, you just
put yours out there for everyone to see. And not just out there. On a 30 ft. x 70 ft.
screen for the viewing masses.
Basically your vagina was the size of a small Yugo. I've gotta hand it to you,
Shar, you've got balls. And a rather nice vagina.
Your supreme confidence as Catherine Trammel is not so far
from your own. Am I right, Shar? There's a certain male energy about you that
women want. You can hang with the men. Look at you in Casino. Ginger was
a hustler. She was entitled to her furs. She knew how to wheel, deal, screw,
and climb her way to the top. While also wearing killer outfit after killer outfit.
You're a hustler too, Sharon. You've been married three times. To three pretty
significant men. It wasn't what you wanted, so, you moved on. You're 50 and
you're killing it, Shar. You're hot. You're crazy smart. Men still want to fuck you.
Congratulations.
I hate you.
Fondly,
CrazyVirgo
I always wondered why I hated her.
Posted by: Normal LP | July 01, 2009 at 02:30 PM