The Anti-Misogyny Club
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25/02/2025
how to die on a sunny day
Walking down that street that I’ve crossed so many times before, my body moves in anxious incoordination while at every step I try to pull down my skirt that keeps coming up. God, I’m hating this skirt, I always seem to forget how uncomfortable it is. Repeatedly stretching the edge of it down, I look around hoping nobody is noticing my struggle, alert and watchful for an invasive man-stare or the judging glance of an old woman. I love walking down this street on Saturday; a man preaching, the Communists flyering, the market’s sweet scent of decay, the old grumpy women with their trolleys and kids in tow. I love it, usually, but not today. Today I feel all the eyes on me, scanning over each centimetre of my skirt riding up.