While pessimism tells me things would be easier, experience tells me this is doomed.
All of three minutes into our conversation about atheism and religion, three minutes of which I made sure I was pleasant , he says “I’m sure you’ll get over your atheism.” Against my better judgment, I didn’t make him walk home. I, in a most staid tone, expressed to him how ignorant his statement was. How dare his Florida-swamp-ass tell me my beliefs, no matter how far removed from American idealism, are erroneous; I can’t believe he had the unmitigated gall. If I was Jewish or Muslim would he have said the same? Did he view me as some Neanderthal, because he deems I don’t have the conscious space to digest religion? I could have gone Nat Turner on his ass; I should have gone Nat Turner on his ass.
Men are always wary of me when I tell them I am atheist, as if I just sprouted eight eyes and six legs. There are three types of men when it comes to this matter: those that will only seek to spread my legs, those they will spread their arms and those that think they can spread my mind. The latter is the worse. Their brain in sync with their mouths begin to twist and torque with rhetoric and questions trying to dissuade their uncomfortableness by asking belittling questions and making belittling comments, all the while making my dick limp and my eyelids heavy. I do not mind speaking of religion on dates, just make sure you give me the tact a dog is due.
The problem that I have with dating Christians is not the religion, that’s a different bone on a totally different elephant. I have a fear of falling in love with someone then being forced to prove I love them more than I love myself and my convictions, through some arbitrary ritual of gathering in a building to praise a mythical being and with the use of overly exerted egos place hierarchies in our society based on skin color, gender, and sexual practices to name a few; not to mention every first Sunday, we must pretend grape juice is blood and a wafer is flesh, sort of like that fake McDonald’s kitchen with the fictional microwave that heated up the plastic meat and buns — although, I thought “when I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me.” 1 Corinthians 13:11
Okay, maybe it’s on the same elephant.