Big Clit Energy
When I was in my twenties, my flatmate and I would return home from long days in our consecutive offices and, over a loaf of bread or a bag of Maltesers, (or both because who am I kidding and I promised never to lie to you), we would talk about all the things the men did that day. It was like a post-match analysis of all their bullshit.
Whether it was my COO who, when we all sat down at the glass table for a meeting, said, ‘wow, if you ladies opened your legs we might be able to see up your skirts.’ Or, Adam, the guy who sits with such a wide manspread it’s impossible to sit next to him in team meetings. It might have been Tom and Jack who constantly threw a rugby ball to each other in the office, loudly exclaiming, ‘go long bro,’ despite their colleagues trying to work. Maybe it was James and his comment about the dress I was wearing that day, or Fred who always asks for help but gets paid, a lot, more.
We spent hours over our kitchen table raging, but also laughing because sometimes men are just plain ridiculous and deserve to be laughed at. I mean, ‘go long bro.’ Come on! Is there anything more pathetic than two grown men in suits taking a ten-minute break from their desks in which they pretend to be NFL stars at the Superbowl or rugby players in the final of the Six Nations? You can’t even go long in a mid-sized company office. I have an entire theory about men in offices and their balls, but that’s for another day.
The point is, my flatmate and I would complain and rage and laugh but also, plot, and this is where Big Clit Energy comes in.
