I don’t want you to have any fun. ESPECIALLY NOT YOU. YEAH, YOU.
See, this is what all the talking about “respecting boundaries” and “sexual harassment” and “consent” is really about. It’s about how I do not want you to have any fun. None at all. No suggestive remarks at the expense of my body, or my behavior, or my sexual proclivities, (real or imagined) or even just my smile. No being able to touch me whenever you like, just because you want to and I’m there and I’m female.
Nor should you be able, in my little fantasy world, to make sweeping generalizations about half the human population of this planet as if we are lesser than you are, or subject to your whims.
I know that’s going to make a real dent in how you amuse yourselves.
I feel better now that I have pulled the mask of wanting equality, of wanting safety, of wanting to be included with all our flaws and all our gifts without fear, off this despicable monster known as “feminism.” Which, by the way, in its highest form extends those privileges to all genders and all people, without exception.
That might be fun.