Oh, you want me to smile, dude on the street? Well fuck you.
You don’t know me. You don’t know my life. You just want to think that every pretty woman in the world is happy, has no problems & is totally ready to jump on your cock. Or at least throw a flirtatious wink your way. Well here’s some news for you: we’re people too. Imagine what it’s like to be living in my head, looking out at the world through my eyes, with my brain in back giving the context for everything you interact with.
Do you smile like a goon every waking minute? You don’t? Well then, why should I? And I don’t care what your day has been like, stranger, it’s not my job to cheer you up.
And please don’t assume I’m angry just because I’m not smiling. My personality isn’t perky. I might be pursuing some train of thought you’re not privy to, or focusing on my to-do list. But if you want me to be angry, by all means, keep telling me to smile.
Bottom line, you don’t own me. You aren’t allowed to tell me how to present myself emotionally. You can’t yell at me on the street and just assume I’m going to respond. The care and cultivation of my emotional life belongs to me, and I suppose to the few people closest to me. You’re not a part of that group.
You want your world to be full of happy, contented, smiling women? Give us a little respect. Give us a little empathy. Treat us like real people, not like objects. Some real respect and a lot less boneheaded selfishness would go a long way toward creating a world where you get to see people smiling all day long.