Hey babe, I’m going to go up front. Can you hold my stuff?
What? Why are you looking at me like that?
I know, I know, it’s wrong. I shouldn’t be imposing my masculine will on you like this, or reinforcing painfully stereotypical gender norms that runs counter to notions of female importance … but I’m afraid if I put it behind the merch table, someone will steal it. Babe, you KNOW Jeff has had his eye on this coat. Really, you should feel empowered that I trust you enough as a woman to let you hold my coat, if we’re both being honest feminists.
What? What’s wrong? It’s not like you’re going to mosh.
Wait, don’t leave!
The band is starting soon and I want to get a good spot! Can’t you just do it ironically, like how we’re vocal proponents of progressive social movements, but then also put on R. Kelly occasionally back at the apartment and dance around? It’s ironic ’cause he, like … you know, did whatever to those girls. But you and I aren’t like that, I just don’t want my phone to fall out of my pocket while I headwalk on these fools.
Please, Emily, no one holds my coat the way you do. My keys, my wallet, my phone — you hold them all with grace, and beauty, and strength. You’re the fucking Rosie the Riveter of holding my belongings. I literally cannot go up front and sing along without you … holding my shit.
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Look, I could understand if you were going to mosh or something, but there are some really fucking huge guys here tonight and we both know you don’t want any part of that. I know that’s part of the problem. But I kinda thought we were going to start experimenting with kinky powerplay stuff. Nothing scary, just like light bondage and respectful coat holding?
Wait! What did I say? Don’t leave. Emily, don’t leave. No, you are welcome here. I was joking. You are involved. You’re practically a pillar of this scene. A pillar with some conveniently placed coat hooks on it, that’s all. This isn’t about Jimmy, is it? He’s just shy! He hardly shakes my hand either. I know I told him that but he won’t listen, he’s weird.
Please, I can’t be single again. You were the best coat rack — I mean girlfriend — I’ve ever had.
Article by a Newly Single Hardcore Kid.
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