I am often told that ‘offence is not given, it’s taken’, as if offence can only ever matter to the people who feel it. Like it’s a substance magicked out of thin air whenever someone is being thin-skinned. The ‘offence is not given, it’s taken’ argument is usually rolled out when someone is trying to make the person who is criticising them look petty or dramatic. But in my experience offence is rarely taken: it is assigned.
This time last year I was fizzing with excitement because I was on my way to the Woodhull Sexual Freedom Summit. It’s an incredible event, hosted in Arlington (in America – woo!) each year. Unfortunately I can’t go this year, and it’s making me very sad. So if you’re on the fence about going I thought I’d try and use some of the influence people keep telling me I have to persuade you that it’s totally worth your while.
I disappoint men regularly. In real life I disappoint them by forgetting their birthdays or accidentally baking them cakes that turn out to be raw in the middle. Professionally I disappoint men (and non-men) by not replying to their emails quickly enough, or sending invoices dated ‘2016’ because I am forgetful and will probably keep doing that until at least July. I try to fix these little disappointments, at the same time as I try to remind myself that we’re all a bit disappointing sometimes.
But on this blog, there’s one way in which I disappoint men that I have no intention of fixing.
Last night I walked into my flat, dumped a backpack overloaded with swag and very sweaty shirts onto my bed, and then hauled my exhausted body to the bathroom. Everything was weirdly dark, save the flicker of a few candles. On the windowsill my other half had placed a bottle of wine, a glass and a bluetooth speaker blasting ‘We Are The Champions’ by Queen. How does this even happen? What bizarre luck leads to someone doing such a lovely thing, for me?
There’s just one week to go until we open the doors to Eroticon 2017. Three days left to buy tickets. Seven days for me to write endless lists, phone co-organisers Molly and Michael in a panic, and eventually sigh with relief when I realise they are totally on top of things and I am just an anxious twat. If you can’t come to Eroticon yourself, here’s a great way to get involved and learn a little about the fabulous writers and speakers who’ll be there with us. The Eroticon Anthology.