The Male Gaze

Ever felt that somebody was looking through you instead of at you? You are about to launch into an adorably interesting anecdote and you turn to face your audience. His eyes are facing your direction, but his stare is that of what I assume a possum's would be: physically alive but wildly inattentive.

He looks, but does not listen.

So you continue, like a social robot. But you might as well be speaking in tongues. His possum eyes have launched themselves onto something shiny, like the waitresses tightly clad behind.

And then it's a sinking feeling, somewhere in your uterus.

It's that feeling you get when the top comes off your 4 dollar coffee and sloshes your white button down.

It's the feeling you get when your friend's band covers Nickelback.

It's the feeling you get when you hear about BP on the radio.

It's the feeling you get when you turn to grab a piece of toilet paper and all you feel in cardboard. And it's the morning.

Hangnails, the voicemail, burnt hair (or steak for that matter), weight gain, dirty dishes.

Life's little inconveniences. I think they hurt more than we care to admit. I am not ashamed to admit that when I fall down the last two steps of my lecture hall isle as I attempt to turn in my midterm, I feel a little hurt inside.

But hopefully, one day there will be somebody with human eyes on the other end of the line, who will not gaze past the words of my midterm fall. He'll laugh, and say "That sucks baby."