I bet he wore a pussy hat. I know he self-identified as a woosie.

by Angela K. Durden
"The Most Brilliant Woman in the World"

I once met a man who read a novel I wrote. He said, "I don't think I can hang out with you."

First of all, I don't know where he got the idea we were ever going to hang out, but that's another story and I'm sure I'll put it in a scene somewhere in a novel. I replied, "Huh?"

"This book," he shuddered. "It's got murder and stuff like that." He whispered, "Really. Sick. Stuff."

His body recoiled at the thought of having to be in my presence much longer; as if I was Evil itself instead of merely using evil as a plot device so the good guys can shine as they outwit and catch the bad guy. I should've kept my mouth shut, but the perverse side of me couldn't let it go.

I stirred his pot a little more. With an easy smile, and in a casually cold voice, I said, "Well then, you certainly won't be able to handle the other novels I'm working on."

He took a step back, his eyes widened in fear, and he swallowed hard. "What?"

"Oh, yeah." I leaned into him. "The evil in this book is mere child's play compared to my other novels."

He couldn't speak. Fear nailed his feet to the floor. He was caught, well and good, in the Trap That Was Evil Angela the Sick Novelist.

I was tempted to say boo, but he might have dropped from a heart attack and then I would have had to give him CPR and that would mean touching a woosie. Now, that I fear.

Besides, and quite frankly, I didn't want him beholden to me for his life because the dichotomy for the poor fellow would have been too huge and might have led to psychiatric facilities and a drain on taxpayers. As a good and proper citizen, I do not want to harm my fellow citizens.

Plus, can you imagine him telling people it was Evil Angela the Sick Novelist that saved his life?

Instead of boo and an evil laugh, I gently said, "Are you for real? I'm mean...really? You are afraid of me because of what I wrote?"

He nodded affirmative. I felt sorry for the man. Here, standing in front of me, was a man so beaten down by the long-term campaign of the RadFem's guerrilla war that he had lost all his manliness. That must be a terrible way to live.

Can any of you men reading this imagine living like that? No, you cannot because you are a real man.

I said to the fellow, "Then you might not want to ever try to meet another author or writer for things like movies and TV shows and such. You see, we're all like this."

I bet he wears his favorite pussy hat when he and his friends march for women's rights. Now it's my time to shudder. 

Citizen Journalist.  Novelist. Author of other stuff. 

Business writer.  Songwriter.  Protecting creator's copyrights.