Hi Usher, baby,
I don’t care what you think about what I do for a living. I know working as a stripper doesn’t make me a hoe. That you feel the need to make such a clarification speaks volumes about how you see women and how you see what I do for a living. I also don’t care how you feel about my working hours and let me be frank. If I am working until three, I’m not leaving with you, asshole. I’m going home, to my own place that I pay for with my own money, because my knees and my back are killing me. My work is actual work and it is hard on the body. After a shift, I just want to take a long hot bath and then I want to sleep.
I know I can take off my clothes because I have been doing that when I undress since I was about two years old. I may be going home after work. I may be going somewhere else. You do not need to concern yourself with my whereabouts. I mean, if you don’t mind what I do for a living, you shouldn’t mind where I am when I’m not earning that living. You trust me, don’t you, Usher, baby?
Stop telling me you don’t mind. I heard you the first time. I heard you the fifteenth time. I still don’t care.
Yes, men come to the club and they buy bottles and they watch me shake and shimmy. Those same men stare at me like I’m Beyoncé because I look goooood. That said, who are you to judge? Exactly. Shut up. Don’t tell me you make enough for both of us and are also fine with me working until three. Guess what? I do mind. You’re a cheap asshole. You’re worth millions of dollars. You should be ashamed of yourself. You were raised in the A? What does that even mean? What does geography have to do with your miserly attitude?
When I get off work, you’ll be waiting for me in your Ferrari. That would be nice if I felt like squeezing myself into a deeply uncomfortable car after working on my feet all night. Pick me up in a real car. How about that? And let me be clear, the only private party we will be having when we get home will be in my sleep so don’t get too excited. It’s a party of one. And if you’re proud to call me your bitch, if you are proud to call me out of my name, you should do some soul searching. You are a terrible boyfriend and I very much do mind that.
No longer yours,
Roxane Gay is the editor of The Butter.