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Today I..

..said “Fuck You” to a stranger.

I didn’t even see her face. But my heart was pounding and my skin was blazing and I’d just hopped my bike to head home in a fit of pure agonizing anxiety. She nagged me, a woman she’d never before seen, that “cycles aren’t allowed on the sidewalks.”

FUCK YOU. wasn’t a thought, it was some measured reflex and said just as deliberately. I didn’t spit it out. There was no exclamation and the words reflected no hate. Just a simple statement encompassing things like:
have you ever ridden a bike in a city in your life? I’m doubting it, because you wouldn’t say such a thing if you had.

can you even begin to conceive how I’m feeling or what my experience is right now? Again, you have no idea.

what is going on in your life that makes you feel as if you must lecture a stranger who isn’t harming or inconveniencing you in any way?

That last question completely hypothetical. I was so hot and wrapped up at the moment that I wasn’t capable of caring for what her motives or intentions were.

So I said “Fuck You” to a stranger who did me no harm. And as a cool-minded and emoted person generally, I can say I’ve done that maybe once in the past. I generally consider it unnecessary and antagonistic to say such things,

but today I wasn’t about to take some dim-witted lecture from a strange woman who felt entitled (as a “citizen of Cambridge,” most like) to speak down to me. So today, fuck you, strange woman.

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