Feminist Underwear

Dear Sir,  

Perhaps it did not occur to you, whilst perusing the chilled sandwich and salad aisle at our local 24-hour convenience store, that shouting, “She’s a big ‘un!” at me an upwards of six times was not the greatest compliment a woman could ever be paid. My sincerest apologies if I misled you to believe that it was.

In fact, I certainly understand how ignoring you and refusing to make eye contact might have resulted in your understanding that I was, in fact, hard of hearing, and simply wasn’t opening my ears wide enough. I thank you for recognizing this and repeating the phrase several times.

I was really pleased when you clarified, to no one in particular, that “Big ‘un means tall, it don’t mean fat!” Those few seconds where I thought you might have been calling me fat, of all the horrible, evil, disgusting things to be called, were among the worst in my life. So again, my heartiest gratification to you for steering me right.

Ultimately, I did not find it terrifying when you continued to follow me to my friend’s car, shouting, “Big ‘un!” until I reached the safety of the back seat. In fact, I was most assuredly flattered that you found your message to be of such great importance, it bore repeating. I was certainly not annoyed that the only reason I felt remotely safe was because the friend in question was male—after all, patriarchy affords me so many delightful perks, and, as a woman and lesbian, I can’t possibly be expected to remember them all.

In short, your message was received with the warmest affection, and I look forward to seeing you again soon.

With Light and Love,

Chelsea