Yesterday, while trying to quickly finish my Spanish assignment before the last bell rang, I overheard a conversation between a group of fiendish hormonal boys. They were discussing what they liked in their “chicks,” but did any of it have to do with personality? Whatsoever? No. It only had to do with the size of the girl’s breasts and arse. Because apparently that’s the only important thing when it comes to dating a girl.

These boys are about fourteen, they’re tiny whippersnappers and they’re talking about how they’re only interested in having sex with girls and nothing else. I’m just sitting there thinking that how in the world are they going to have sex? They can’t drive, they’re literally five feet tall, they have the worst body odor, and I would bet my life that they would pee themselves if given a sexual opportunity. But most of all, what self-respecting girl would go out with them? They’re dogs. Rabid, hormonal, degrading, dogs.

They talked about girls as if our only purpose in life is to be attractive to them. It felt like I had transported back to early Qing China, where the woman’s only purpose was to be pretty and have children.

I was literally about to thrash them upside the head with my textbook.
But then the bell rang.
Lucky for them.