Dear Men,

I know we've had a pretty rocky relationship in the time that we've known each other. You seemed kinda upset at times when I renounced Men in favour of pussy, and I heard you were relieved when I went both ways. I know that because of the way I view the world we've often been on the same page and fast friends, and you seldom held grudges when I ventured elsewhere and made out with chicks. You often high-fived me, Men.

I can see that, lately, as friends, we've fallen out, Men, and when I do see you, you sometimes look at me in ways I would consider inappropriate.

So when I am in the international cuisine aisle, please don't do those cliches, Men. When your jaw hangs open, and you do a double take, and (after some stammering) start hitting on me, don't think I don't know what your intention is, Men. I know you're a pig, at times.

I just wanted some butter chikkin simmer sauce.

Don't ask me "Hey, miss, how are you, miss?" you sleazy tradie.

I've refrained from telling you to fuck off, so please. Restrain yourself.

No penis from you, pl0x.

Regards,

(not bearman) Nynny.