“It’s not you, it’s them. They want control, and we’re not girls that they can control,” WAF said matter-of-a-factly as she took a deep breath from the hookah.
We were sitting in a modern Middle Eastern cafe, sharing a bong of strawberry-flavoured shisha. It was only my second time, but I was quickly understanding the lethargic attraction of the suck-and-puff bong.

“You’re right, they’re both passive boys, aren’t they?” I realized, referring to HB and BAD. “It’s like, they can’t overtly exert control, so they do all this sneaky, emotionally manipulative shit to make us feel bad for being who we are,” I deduced, waving my hands vaguely as I tried to understand my own statement.
“Exactly. Just look at their girlfriends. They both chose girls who are completely submissive, completely dull, never go out, and barely speak. Those girls don’t require any effort to control, they’re practically wallpaper.”
She was right, HB had told me his girlfriend basically never left the apartment. That was why he hadn’t been worried about her seeing us holding hands on the street.
“And we are girls who do go out,” I added the obvious aloud, more for my own benefit than anything else.
“Right, and they can’t control what happens when we go out. There’s always the possibility of us meeting someone better when we go out. It all boils down to their own insecurities.”

I had an epiphany. “There are two types of girls in the world,” I said with conviction. “There are the girls who leave their apartments and the girls who don’t. And we are girls who leave our apartments.”

WAF chuckled, but applauded my deduction. “And the BWDWDU want us, but they won’t date us because they can’t control us.” she added.

With a twinkle in my eye, I raised my coffee as if to suggest a toast. “That’s why we need to find boys who can handle us.”