It’s really frustrating when men explain things to me, assuming that I don’t know anything. Whether it’s about a band I love, a work project I’ve already completed, or a sport I follow, men are constantly trying to “mansplain” to me, and I’m sick of it. But nothing is worse than being mansplained by the omens of your death. Ugh! Here are the portents of death and that are constantly trying to mansplain my death to me.
The Crow
The crow sits upon a branch outside my window. When I wake in the morning it is gone, but each sundown it returns. The crow neither moves nor caws; it only stands and watches and waits. And honestly, I’m just like, okay, crow, I get it–you represent my death. You are watching and waiting, just like my eventual and imminent demise. I understand that, and I am fully aware of it. My job is super dangerous, so I’m quite aware that it’s all gonna end for me soon. But do you really have to say it in a way that makes me feel so small?
The Eclipse
Since the beginning of time humankind has learned to respect the awesome power of the moon. Yet for months now, I’ve witnessed a nightly eclipse that blocks the Moon’s cool, life-giving light. As I watch that shadow drag itself across that the moon’s surface, I can’t help but yawn. Shut up! Of course the eclipse is trying to foreshadow my death, but does it have to do so in such a patronizing manner? Like wow you’re blocking the moon, okay, I get it. I’m going to die. Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I don’t understand that. This isn’t the space for you to just declare how right you are.
The Lamb with Two Heads
I was driving on the highway late one night and suddenly, out of nowhere, a two-headed lamb appeared in the middle of the road. I stopped in time so as not to kill it, but still it opened its mouth and blood poured out. Don’t you think the blood is a little overkill? I mean, the minute I saw a two-headed lamb, I knew that this was yet another fucking omen. At this point it’s just RUDE.
My Own Headless Reflection in a Pond
I went down to the creek to bathe and attempt to cleanse my mind of the awful foreknowledge of my own death when I saw my own reflection in the water–only my head was completely separated from my body. My dismembered visage floated before me, and I knew that death was lurking frighteningly near. DUH. I don’t need any ominous portent of my death to foretell my demise FOR me. I. Can. Figure. It. Out. On. My. Own. Jesus Christ.
I’m so sick of all these goddam omens trying to mansplain my death to me. Here’s a tip: if you forewarn a girl of her gruesome demise, how about you try sitting down and having an actual conversation with her, like a person.
