Excuse me, mister

Part of the plans for Joseph's visit were a road trip and gallivant through the part of the state where he used to live, before he moved away. In his message to me about this, he had said "You'd better have the car and the time, and if you don't have the car, you can ride a damn bus with me". So I admit, part of the reason I took the plunge of buying a car was so that I didn't have to ride a bus in July. What can I say; I am easily influenced.

When I bought the car, I called him up and informed him of this. He was on his way home from work, and we briefly talked, but he also spent time talking to one of his coworkers, who was giving him a ride. During the conversation he referred to me as "his slut" or something along those lines, a few times.

I absolutely bristled.

Honestly, I didn't quite understand my reaction at the time; all I knew was that it really put me off, and I got cranky with him, which he took as simply a reaction to the word. He tried to explain it as that he didn't mean to smash my dignity, etc. I replied that I said nothing about dignity whatsoever.

Having thought about it, I didn't mind the word so much, as the fact that it was him using it. It pissed me off. He doesn't get to call me that. I am not his. True, some of the things I've done with him can be construed as slutty, as can some of the things that I have considered doing with him. But since when does he get to call me a slut? That's right, he doesn't. Much less his. Fuck that, good sir, you do not own me.

And apparently I'm still a bit angry about it. I more or less hung up on him - although I continued to search for airline tickets for him for a bit. Maybe it's wrong of me, but I'm perversely happy that airline tickets are so gawdawful expensive for him to fly out here, because it decreases the chances that he will. And right now, that makes me happy.