I’m so sick of all the taunting. Yeah, I might be “conventionally hot” and “a human male specimen,” but I’m more than my tall, dark, and handsome shell portrays.
Sometimes I get sad. When I’m making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and there’s only a little bit of peanut butter at the bottom of the jar and I stick my knife in to try and get it, sometimes the bit of peanut butter gets on my hand because it’s too big and muscular to fit in the tiny jar. I just give up and make pasta. Nobody should have to go through that.
Then, the other day in the stacks, a kid asked me to reach to a high shelf to grab a book, but he didn’t ask me once about how I was handling my parents’ divorce.
Just because I’m a tall drink of water doesn’t mean I can’t cry. Just yesterday I was getting in the back of my Uber, and I hit my head real bad on the roof of the Toyota Camry. My driver asked me if that happened a lot to “a person like me,” but then he ignored me when I asked for advice on how to get my girlfriend to love me again. Big boys have big boy problems.
So please, reader, next time you want to objectify me or my teammates for our looks and charm and height and penis length and NBA eligibility, just remember that we have feelings too. Dunk on that.