On Being a Sissy

Tessa: Hello. My name is Tessa and I am a sissy. Sometimes you know something about yourself and you deny it. Sometimes you just don’t know. In this case I really know. One of my favourite sporting activities is chasing Dave around the house, wrestling him to the ground, pinning his arms above his head and yelling, “You will pay. You will pay.”

He looks at me bemused, maybe a little frightened and asks where I got the cheezy line from. Well I got it from the only movie I’ve seen recently and my favourite movie A History of Violence. Those are moments when I feel empowered and not so sissyish. But really, I’m a sissy. I’ll give you some sissy examples: one of the games I play with Reub is called Mother Theresa where I put a towel on his head which makes him look like Mother Theresa, then I scream Mother Theresa repeatedly while grabbing the ball and throwing it some place while blinding him with the holy towel. Dave’s games are called things like Drug Trafficking, or Kill the Squirrel, or Eat the Little Dog, or let’s do Drugs.

Another example is if I see a dog while walking, it doesn’t matter who is beside me I’ll put them between me and the dog. It doesn’t matter if its my mother, sister, child or Dave they go between me and the threat. The good thing is that it happens so fast they don’t even realize they’ve been strategically placed CLOSER to danger.
Wikipedia says sissy is the shortened pejorative term for sister. Why am I surprised? To call a man or boy a sissy is to infer that he is like a sister or sissy. Basically a cowardly pussy. Etymology aside, I stand bravely by my cowardly ways. Don’t come to me if you need saving. I’m likely to freeze while you burn or get run over. I won’t deep sea dive or jump out of airplanes and I have no long term or short term plans on changing. Like Cato, I will continue my surprise wrestling attacks on Dave and continue to scream, ” You’ll pay. You’ll pay.”


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