I know.
I look like some sleezy, 17 year old in a pencil skirt. Located behind a movie theatre concessions stand.
I know I look like a girl, who's only here to 'dress to impress'.

I understand you know what I mean when I say that.
I can see that hateful gleam in your eye when you look at any 17 year old female employee at a movie theatre.

But I know that every hateful gleam is different and the one you give me is beyond hatred.
You must think that I'm dressing out of my way, to snag a guy or two and you're afraid that your boyfriend is one of my targets.

He knows how to cover up his hatred.
But because of my short, shaggy, haircut, he must think that I'm dressing out of my way to snag a girl or two. And he's afraid that his girlfriend is one of my targets.

The thing is, I wasn't 'dressing to impress'.
I wasn't 'dressing out of my way' to snag you and your boyfriend into a little **** trap of mine.

If I was dressing to impress anybody, it would be the person standing behind me.
Wondering what's up my skirt and between my thighs and if they could just have one little taste.
And I wouldn't even complain because I've been wondering what they've got. So I have just as much of a guilty pleasure for them, as they do for me.

But because I wear a tight skirt that defines my hips, doesn't mean I want your boyfriend to unzip it, open it up to take me from behind.
And because I wear button up blouses, doesn't mean that I want your husband to eagerly watch me unbutton it to reveal black lace that can be torn off my body and have him violate me in ways I've never felt before.

Just because I dress accordingly and test out whether or not my clothing choices are appropriate for the dress attire for my job, doesn't mean I am some sleezy, 17 year old, theatre employee, *****.