Are women Safe anywhere?
A quickie from Medular.
With humour and Pathos exposing the aggressive male voice
A trip to the supermarket under the harsh male gaze and verbal assault.
First Published 18/08/2022 on Wingerworth Writers Association blog.
I find the language of cake to be aggressive, guttural, and obnoxious.
I was in the supermarket, and the thought crossed my mind that I fancied cake. Just that, cake. Not a specific cake like a swish roll, Victoria sandwich or even a delicious fresh cream cake.
Wondering down the cake isle they all started shouting at me. Other food in the supermarket shouts but none are as loud as cake. Fresh fruit is always quiet, strawberries for example sound like three-year-old girls, they all say hello and want a hug. Seven-year-old boys talk like they are smiling at you, which means I am in the vicinity of raspberries. But cake.
The cake all sound like men. As I walk down the aisle they start. “Hey baby, baby, hey, baby…look at me baby.” All just annoying. “Hey beautiful, look at me. I’m delicious, we would be great together.” I have picked up a Battenburg before. “Hey sweetheart,” it says to me in a German accent, “You look as delicious as me, come on. Eat me. Eat me I am gorgeous. You know you want me.” Never been a huge fan of Battenburg, it is tasty but there is never enough, and the marzipan puts me off. But as soon as I put it down the tone changes. “Hey bitch. Do not put me back. You want me. I am fucking great. Pick me back up right now!” As I move on the shout above all the others trying to sweet talk me, “Watch out guys she is a lifter. A fondler. A tease. She is a fucking tease.” The tarts in their box get very loud, “Don’t listen to them. We can be tarts together.” The problem with tarts is that I only like the lemon curd ones and the majority are jam. What I want to do is pick them all up and throw them on the floor and dance till every box is flatten into a crime scene that makes an old detective sick. Halfway down the aisle the tone of all has changed. They become even more insulting. “Pick one of us. Come on pick me,” they begin to chant in a unison. Every new four foot of cake brings a new shout. The noise of merging rounds of abuse. “Hey fatty. Eat me. Come on, I want to wrap around that belly. I need those hips. Come on. You know you need me. Do not be ignorant. You need me. You need me fat bitch. We are better than chocolate.”
And that is when I realise. I do not want cake. I want chocolate. Sweet, sexy chocolate. Chocolate, my chocolate, where are you at?
Thank you for reaching the bottom of the page. It is very gratifying for a writer to know someone has read all the words I crafted. Like it, hate it, indifferent, all feedback is welcome.
I want to connect with readers in more ways than me writing and you reading. I am on a variety of social media and other sites. These are now all gathered on Linktree.
A little begging: We will never affiliate, we will not take adverts (any you see are from the host and beyond our control) nor will we have sections placed behind a paywall. We like free, but this does cost in time and money. If you feel generous, we would be happy for any donations.
Our writers are authors, they have books available, from our own store (always the cheapest) or many other outlets including Amazon.
Nigel Hare 
Leave a comment