Sometimes I read too many Amanda Knox articles and it worries me. I start thinking that if I were ever near somewhere where something terrible happened, I’d react wrongly. Whatever did or didn’t happen, I’d be judged by kissing a boy afterwards or giggling when giggling was Not The Right Thing To Do.
I know my reactions to major events. I’ve been rescued from a burning building and I’ve stood on an altar and said, “I do.” I’ve had the one of those operations. I know my take on the serious things, the things where it’s been decided how ladies are supposed to react. I do it wrong.
You’re not supposed to come out of things too alive. Or too sexual. You’re not supposed to have been drunk in your past (or your present), you’re not supposed to flirt, you’re not supposed to smile, you’re not supposed to continue living with your flesh and salacious female existence.
I don’t mean that I’ve ever been stopped from doing these things. I’ve always been surrounded by the kind of degenerates and delightfuls who yank me from what life flings and pass the cava and stroke my hair and make it fine.
I also know obviously these are in no way comparable situations. That’s not the point. The point is that the things on which you can be judged are that you were once drunken on youtube or that you sought comfort in someone’s arms.
The fact is that the points in your life when you are vulnerable can be whipped out and polished like snowglobes, hardened, coated in a thick resin, and presented as who you truly are. And it turns out you’re evil.