One of My Perennial Manners/Etiquette Rants

I tend to be a stickler about "manners" at a certain level. I imagine that has to do with being a certain age, and being raised with the kinds of expectations that many of us were in the 1950's.

Children were brought up to be respectful, to understand that they weren't the center of the universe, to understand that there were limits and boundaries that they were to observe and live within. We refered to adults as Mr. or Mrs. or Miss. We said, "yes, Sir" and "yes, Ma'am." We were often "seen and not heard." When we were "company," we cleaned our plates, even when what was on our plate might be truly scary looking. We looked but did not touch. We didn't ask personal or intrusive questions, no matter how curious we might be, and we did not ask for treats when we were out away from home, and surely not from strangers or adults who were not "our" adults.

Likewise, I, being raised by Depression-era parents, have a whole set of social etiquette notions that can get stomped on in today's more "freewheeling" cyber universe where people are significanlty less formal than I tend to be about meeting, greeting, and initiating relationships. For example, when I meet someone for the first time, whether in person, or online, I EXPECT to have that first meeting allow for some time for us to get acqainted before we leap right into the areas that I consider to be "personal," "private," and "intimate." If, the first time that I encounter you online, the conversation goes anything like, "Hello, how are u, how often do u have sex?" I am likely to find that inappropriate, forward, cheeky, and presumptuous. At a minimum. Most likely I will treat you like a two-headed, ill-mannered, bottom- feeding, predatory, hairball. And I WILL get all bent out of shape.

Rude behavior is rude.

So, call me too sensitive and too touchy.

This week, I've been accosted by not one but two "out of the blue" strangers on Yahoo messenger. I don't know where these guys come from, or why they pick me. I do know that when they barely get past hello and the obligatory marital status question before they are asking "sex" questions, I find it offensive. I do not keep my status or my situation secret, and I do not put myself "out" as shopping for a relationship, so I am always puzzled by the come on routine. What's that about? With one of these guys, I refered him to Master because He indicated that he might be interested in meeting and playing at some point. That wouldn't be my call in any case, and so I sent him off to talk to Himself. Pretty soon, he was back, still pushing and questioning at levels of familiarity that were way beyond what I knew he'd discussed with Master only minutes before. Are people really that clueless, or is it really considered appropriate to just ignore limits and boundaries in today's world?

Maybe it is a function of how outsiders understand our declared practice of "poly." Is it because we label ourselves as polyamorous that people somehow assume that we are not deserving of the same basic courtesies that other people are afforded? I'm beginning to think that probably that is the case...

It just seems to me that many men online see that label "poly" and assume that I'm "up for grabs." They see "poly" and translate it to a whole thesaurus of synonyms: slut, whore, hooker, prostitute, tramp, hussey, floozie, loose woman, tart, ... The easy, dismissive labels seem to obviate the need for any sort of human to human contact or connective conversation. There's no reason to waste the time on "idle" chit chat. These fellows know at the outset what sort of "girl" I am, and they seem to figure that they won't have to invest a whole lot of energy in all that messy relationship building business with me. Blech!

I don't need flowers and chocolates and poems and all of that. But cripes! 'Hello' is nice. "How are you" (spelled like a grown up) is nice. A little bit of a personal biography that does not center on the length of your male member is nice. Pleasant conversation about things that you enjoy doing in the real outside world is nice. Act like a civilized person. Treat me like a person. I am not a walking life support system for female genitalia. And frankly, if that is all you want, you are barking up the wrong tree because, get a clue, I'm OWNED! DUH!

And, women, noting that we are a poly relational dynamic, often seem to assume that it is somehow ok to just waltz in and insert themselves in the midst of the whole business without so much as a "pardon me, do you mind if I have this dance?" Women who would never wriggle in between their monogamously coupled friends hardly even blink about flirting outrageously, making offers, carrying on with, and otherwise upsetting the balance of things around here. They see that word "poly," and just figure that it is open season. If there is something that looks attractive, interesting, appealing or exciting, then by all means, help yourself... No limits, no boundaries, no rules, no courtesies required or expected. Blech again!

That sort of move sets off a whole bunch of other stuff that just get me going, and keeps me going for days at a time.

As I think about it, I think it is all about the very first day of 4th grade. Yup. I'm pretty sure that's it. Her name was Dana Click, and she was every bit as cute and perky and perfect as her name would have you believe. She had penny loafers with two perfectly matched, shiny, brand new pennies in them -- both perfectly upright of course, and the most lusciously sweet and adorable pink fluffy sweater to wear over her Catholic school uniform. Her hair was flawless, as was she, in every single detail.

I, on the other hand (already too tall and a confirmed tomboy), was as awkward, gangly, shy, and rumpled as it was possible to get. With my clearly Teutonic "Zimmerman," I was relegated to the very last seat in the very last row, out of sight and mostly out of mind unless someone wanted to make jokes about the girl that most people (teasingly) called "Cinnamon."

Dana and I were on opposite poles from the outset, and of course, bound together by cruel fate for the entire rest of our school careers. Through elementary and junior high school and on into high school, I watched as she blossomed into a beauty. Her skin was purest ivory. She never got too tall. She learned every flirtatious and coy trick almost as if it was somehow bred in her genes, and perhaps it was. Long before I achieved any whisper of pubescence, Dana was fabulously curvy with a figure that caused every healthy boy within shouting distance to forget his name and anything else he ever knew about anything.

I on the other hand, made my way through junior high and into high school in full on geek mode. If there was ever a human embodiment of the "ugly girls at seventeen" song lyric, it was probably me. At 5'-11", I weighed somewhere close to 110 pounds. I had hair that wouldn't do anything civilized and a case of acne that, to quote my loving brother made my face "look like it had caught fire and someone had tried to put it out with an ice pick." I never ever did NEED a brassiere, although I finally did talk my mother into allowing me to get them just in time for gals to start burning the damn things. I had seriously buck teeth and the requisite mouth full of braces. I never, ever, even once dated anyone in all of my high school career. Oh yeah, AND, to make matters worse, I was smarter than most of the guys in my class, taking classes like honors English and calculus.

So, when some bouncy, cute, "I'm so all of that" chicky comes waltzing into my world and stomps into my stuff, I'm very easily tipped back into that seventeen year old space again. Nevermind my fully formed, very solid, nice, mature, steady, adult ego structure. What I want to do is run over every 24-year old hawty I see, leaving broken and bleeding girlys lieing lifeless along the roadways all over the city. Because anger is real and not reasonable. And people should have enough sense to know what is "their's" and "not their's."

Sometimes, when it all starts to pile up, I can get pretty over it. That's been the way I've been for the last few days. Not much in the way of social benefit coming from all this trail blazing, brave new paradigm BS. And then it turns around and bites me on the ass every which way. That can piss me off. I think the anger has burned itself out mostly. I've steamed and stewed and stormed and growled and snarled and cussed and spit until it is finally gone. For now, I'm done grousing about all the obnoxious people "out there" who are obviously just badly brought up and without an ounce of good breeding. But hang around for awhile, and I'll be back, doing my "Miss Manners" rag. Sure as the sun rises in the East, you know I'll get on a tear about this one again.

swan