Tuesday, 17 April 2012

Ethical Jezebel

In a twist of karmic fate, my flatmate and I actually left home at the same time this morning, which meant that we could could talk all the way to Mile End instead of, well, getting distracted by any passing blossom, flowers, interesting shapes or carefully left puddles. So a bit different then. In fact, since I've been spending most of my time trapped in the scourge of society that is Notting Hill, we've hardly ever done the go-to-work-together thing. And I really miss that.

But I digress.

As ever the discussion covered subjects as varied as men and sausages. Though on reflection this might have been the same thing. One (man not sausage) in particular came up for a walking dissection, a few days ago he sent her a message saying he was distancing himself from her because she was too much of a temptress. Sorry? My friend may be many things, but from what I know all she was doing was engaging in witty conversation and being, well, herself. Certainly not some vision of a latter day Jezebel.

But there's the problem. It's perfectly okay for a man to have a positively hypocritical moral code, and yet a woman that displays consistent and well thought out opinion, ethics and morals is suddenly the cause of all the problem. It was her fault. Not his. And that reminded me of an incident on Saturday evening.

I was staying at a friends over by St Katherine's Dock (more of that later in another blog) and he had friends over for drinks and nibbles. All okay so far. At some point, glass of champagne in hand, I showed a male guests to the the roof terrace so he could see the (fabulous) view and I could cool down a little. Within seconds of standing there, idly chatting, he launched himself at me. FFS. I'd not been flirting, or made any indication that an approach may be acceptable, far from it, but, apparently, I was suddenly fair game.

Because I was in a pretty frock. Didn't make him want to be physically sick. And had a cleavage. My fault then. Obvs.

I didn't make a scene.

The thing is, this rather acted as the icing on the cake for me. It's something that's been rattling around in my head for some time. So much so that earlier today I found myself getting quite irate when writing to a new correspondent, poor chap...

I've had a bit of a epiphany with respect to men, I still like them and I still keep hoping that I'll meet one (or more!) that is seriously interested in chatting and getting to know me rather than simply trying to get their hands in my knickers (which is still okay, in the right circumstance). 
Sadly though I've come to the realisation that they lose interest after...
a) Me insisting on not meeting straight away, or
b) Meeting and not putting out or
c) Meeting and putting out
I mean, really. Damned if I do, damned if I don't. So, I'd like to get to know you better, as I would anyone else that writes, just with one foot on the floor and my virtue staying there until somebody talks me out of it ;-)
I think that's what one might call a challenge!

I did write that I wasn't accusing him, but simply making him aware that I was making changes. The above is exactly what I wrote, though I confess I've been tempted to edit it down.

In for a penny, in for a pound.

I know that I can, and have been, slightly loose with my favours, and maybe I do have the most abysmal ability to judge character. But ultimately I know that I will at least by consistent in what I do. I have a moral baseline that I find it difficult to move away from. I don't want to be hypocritical. And, most importantly, I can at least look back and say I would do the same things again. Even some of the stupid ones.

So with that, for the time being, it's going to be mildly flirty (which means I will be hit by (a) above), making it very clear why I'm like this and only go any further if somebody actually makes a serious effort. In short, I have laid out a rough set of guiding personal ethics, and I will use them to at least prevent feeling used.

My dear friend coined a phrase for it this morning, and I want this carved on my gravestone...

Here lies the Ethical Jezebel.

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