Don’t Try to Out-Alpha-Female Me, Bitch

January 5, 2017November 28, 2024 notsosexinthecity

I found myself watching Bear work a while back. She was a female client, looked to be in her 40’s, quite a harsh and abrasive woman, but one I smiled at and was nice to nevertheless.

The job took about three hours from start to finish, and as I tried to concentrate on my own work in front of me, her annoying, grating voice was the only thing bouncing around in my head. Within about forty minutes of being in her presence, I wanted to punch her. Square on punch her in the face, and I’m not a violent person. I can’t even kill a spider.

If I’d been to Tenerife, she’d been to Elevenerife. I’ve never been to Tenerife and I’m fully aware that Elevenerife isn’t a real place, but you know what I mean. It didn’t matter what I had to say, she could do one better. With Every. Single. Topic.

She asked if she could run out the back and smoke some of her joint. Bear happened to drop into conversation that I liked a cheeky little smoke myself. I turned to look at her and join in with their conversation after hearing my name, and before I even had the chance to think of something to say she’d basically told me her life story. She’s been smoking pot for 20 years, she can easily smoker more than me, she smokes so much she doesn’t get stoned anymore, she can drink any man under the table, blah, blah, more undignified blah.

I’m not one for judging. That’s bullshit, I judge everyone. I try to do it on the down-low though, I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. I’m an empathetic judgmental bitch, how’s that? But I seriously judged her. With every trashy line that came out of her mouth in her equally trashy 40-a-day smoker’s voice all I could think to myself was, “Well, I guess a couple of drug habits, a cock addiction, and a son that you gave birth to in your teens will give you a harsh and abrasive outlook on life.”

I’m sorry to admit it, but that’s what I thought.

She tried to out-alpha-female me at every opportunity, and it didn’t matter what I was talking about either. She could out-do me at every turn. I liked Russell Brand, she’d drank with him and almost fucked him in some bar one time. I had some blogs and stuff and she’d been writing books since she was at school. I had grey hair, her eyeshadow was the same colour, and she’s been every other colour under the sun. I have a few tattoos, she has a few more. It literally didn’t matter what I had to say, what we were talking about, she could out-do me at every turn. And that’s when I realised something. You literally can’t win when you’re arguing with an utter cunt, and that’s truly what she was.

It was after she seductively dropped her bra strap for what I’m assuming was my boyfriend’s benefit that I decided to stop listening or paying attention to what they were doing. I had music on and got lost in my laptop, finishing off work for clients, and generally not giving two shits about the vile woman I’d found myself in the company of. She knew we were together – Bear and I. We’d talked about relationship stuff. I’m pretty sure he even introduced me to her as his girlfriend. In fact, there’s no pretty sure about it – my chest puffed up when he said those words. I couldn’t have been prouder.

But, despite the fact that he was tattooing a place that wasn’t really anywhere near her bra strap, she decided to drop it. In front of me. For my boyfriend. Like, right there. Her tit was only centimetres away from being completely out.

“Here honey, how’s that? Thought I’d make life easier for you!”

And then that vile 40-a-day hacking cackle. This witch is hitting on my boyfriend in front of me, and I’m about to flip my bitch-switch.

Before I go on I just want to clarify a few things. I’m not cussing teenage mothers, or single mothers. Not at all. I have the utmost respect for those women, and I genuinely have no clue how they manage to fit everything they do into one 24-hour period. My mother was a single mum for a while, and I know plenty. You all do a great job. But this bitch? She was proud of the fact that she encouraged her son to take drugs. That she let him do anything she wanted. That she was a barely-there mother. And then I learned that she was only 36 and not in her forties like I’d originally thought. Hard life or not, this woman looked old.

I’m being a bitch right now and I’m so sorry for letting this side of me out, but she was truly awful. I couldn’t finish a single sentence the entire time she was in the room, and even when I asked Bear if he wanted a drink she felt the need to stick her nose in. She was trying to out-alpha-female me, and I knew there was no point in even trying to fight back against her.

She made it seem as though they’d known each other for a lifetime, as though they had all these shared friends and all these treasured memories. Touching arms and flirtatious giggles, hair-twiddling, the works. The way she was talking you’d have thought they were past lovers, but before she’d even left he cleared that little fact up.

“We weren’t ever together. She’s making it weird. That’s only the second time I’ve ever met her. She was a friend of an ex I think?”

For the rest of the time she was there, I kept myself to myself. I was polite, I asked if anyone wanted drinks or snacks. I smiled when my name was brought up in conversation (which Bear seemed to do a lot), and I responded warmly when necessary. But I didn’t ask questions, I didn’t give more than brief yes or no answers. What would be the point? I wouldn’t end up being able to finish what I had to say. I didn’t bother.

“You were really quiet, babe. Is everything okay? Are you mad at me because of the bra strap thing? I don’t know why she did that.”

Bear really is true gentlemen. He knew something was wrong, or at least different. I wasn’t pissed off though, not with him. Not even with her. It takes a really sad and lonely woman to hit on a man who’s tattooing her when said man’s girlfriend is in the room. Especially when said man’s girlfriend is 30 but still gets ID’d, while she’s 36 and looks ten years older. I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself once or twice when I heard the bullshit that was coming out of her mouth. Once Bear had cleared up the fact they’d never been together, and that they’d actually only met once or twice (which he brought up in front of her towards the end of the session), I realised I had nothing to worry about. These women could hit on my guy all they liked, but I’m fairly confidence he wouldn’t screw me over. I know we haven’t known each other that long, but I genuinely trust him. I’ve lived with him. First for a week, then 10 days, and this time around I’ve been here for two weeks and I’m still showing no signs of going home. And that’s without the times he came to mine for a few days here and there. I know him, or at least I think I do, and I know he wouldn’t cheat on me. Definitely that with trash bag anyway.

And that’s the first thing I learned in 2017. You can’t win against a woman who’s trying to out-alpha-female you right in front of your own fella, and there’s no point in even trying. If I’d joined in, trying to outdo her like she was trying to outdo me, it would have just gotten catty. What’s the point in that? I’m never going to see her again. Bear’s never going to see her again. He made that perfectly clear after she’d left.

“She was flirting with me, wasn’t she? In front of you? I wasn’t making that up, right?”

She’s nothing. She’s no one. She’s trash. Insignificant. Just another punter, in Bear’s words. She’s someone who is so sad, lonely and desperate that she needs to steal another woman’s guy. Or at least try to. It was pathetic to watch once I’d learned the silly game she was playing, funny almost too when I realised that Bear wasn’t interested in the slightest. He’s a good guy, even among the trash bag gals.

Pffft. Seriously.

Don’t try to out-alpha-female me, bitch.

Don’t Try to Out-Alpha-Female Me, Bitch