Today getting onto the elevator to go to lunch, a male colleague called something out after me which was mostly unintelligible. The only part of it I heard clearly was " you man-hater".
 "Yep" I replied, returning his grin.
 Whatever he said was said light-heartedly, that I understood. My position on men is understood at my place of employment. Me and said colleague, who I will name mobile monkey for the purposes of this little whatever-it-is, nonetheless get along fairly well. He knows I'm a mandating lesbian, and I know he's a chauvinistic jerk. We don't let it make for an uncomfortable working environment. We both know continued association outside of work hours would be a disaster at worst, pointless and boring at best. So I rib him on his chauvinism, he ribs me on my misandry, there's a few laughs, sneering innuendo and at the end of the day we exchange a pleasant good-day and go our separate ways.  Ba dum dum.
But as I turned and stepped onto the elevator, I suddenly realised it was the first time anyone had called me a man-hater, in those exact words, to my face, even jokingly.  I was grinning as I punched the buttons and the elevator slid down the shaft because, yes - I am a man hater.
I have said it a few times. "I don't hate men." I've said it when I argue or defend an opinion of mine on women. I've said it when people ask me questions about my lesbianism. I've said it when people ask me why men will be confined to working the cornfields or the sewers when my World Leadership is attained. It's bullshit.
So why do I say it?
Because the second you admit to being a man-hater, a dozen gleeful "ah-HA"s go up from every corner. Nothing you say has any relevance or meaning. It's a joke. You're a joke. Why? Because you don't like men. Because you  hate them.
It automatically negates every important point or thoughtful comment I dare to make, because I'm not "open-minded" enough to include men in my universe of love.
Listen, I tried the whole I-like-men-too thing, and it just didn't work out. I gave it my best shot, but it was really just like whipping a dead horse.  Didn't get me anywhere, and they sure as hell didn't care.
Finally, at some point, I just got sick of trying to find something in some I could find and love in all, my dislike and distrust grew and grew until they got too big for the confines of the "I don't hate men" box I'd whacked them in, culminating finally in a resounding "fuck it" and I disassociated myself from men.

Confessing to misandry is like committing political suicide. All of a sudden you're a warring feminazi whose been molested, abused and just simply never known a "good man" and you're told by your "sisters" that by hating men and daring to admit it, you are not promoting the equality we are all striving so hard for. Therefore,  your opinions come from a personal bias, you're incapable of being objective, and anything you have to say is not worth a flying fuck.
People have this idea that hating men entails that which it often doesn't. When I say I am a man-hater I do not mean that I hurl abuse at a man who looks sideways at me, that I hunt the nights like some deranged vampyre drunk on the blood of a rapist for a fella to kick in the balls, or that I shriek like a harpy every time a friend of mine falls in love with a man. By hating men I mean simply that. Their company on the whole does not edify or stimulate me, I do not trust them, I do not like them and I have no need or desire for them in my life. So I do not associate with them, and I deeply resent it when it is impressed upon me that I should. My hatred of men does not dominate my life. I do not wake up in the morning with the sole purpose of having metaphorical man blood on my hands by the time I go to sleep at night. (Though I'm not adverse to it, it just ain't the goal of my day!)  But when I set out for the day, nor is the thought of impressing or pleasing men on my mind. I do not shove my hatred of men in their face, but I do not hide it. If they want to bear witness, they need only press the right buttons.

Perhaps this is the aspect of how misandry is perceived that bothers me the most. It is not that I have moved among men and found them lacking, it is that I have moved among men and found myself lacking that is the reason I hate them. Well, this is what they and theirs tell me anyway. Apparently, you have to define yourself in someway in regards to men for you and your thoughts to have any weight.  Unless of course, you're a man-hater, because being a man-hater means you don't need men in your life, so you can't define yourself in regards to them, so how on earth can what you say have any real meaning?
"All I need," my straight friends assure me "is to meet a good man."
I've met good men. Unless, my friends, you don't consider your boyfriends good men.  I know individuals with penises whose company I am not adverse to and who I quite like. However - I do not seek out their company, I do not call them, look for them, desperately desire them around or measure my worth in how many male friends I have. If they're at a party I am, I'll talk to them to be sure. But I wouldn't miss them if they weren't there.

Noone seems to comprehend I just do not need a man to be happy.

Take mobile monkey, for example. Our relationship stays at a light-hearted exchange of good-natured insults because we have both learned the fruitlessness of trying to "change" the other. Over lunch one day, that ever-controversial topic of religion came up. I mentioned the book I was currently reading - 'The Word According to Eve', by Cullen Murphy, which explores how women were depicted in the Bible, how that portrayal played a part in how women were treated, and how that treatment  affected women trying to take up Bible Studies. I hit a nerve in good, Catholic, mobile monkey's religious structure when I began to describe how phrases in the original Bible which depicted God in feminine terms had been suppressed and re-translated to masculine. He slapped his beefy man's hand on the table and exploded into a diatribe about the kinds of lies that were told about the One True God, and that decades of painstaking research and uncovering of evidence was, in actuality, a conspiracy to destroy Him.

Any effort I made to offer an opposing opinion or thought he literally shouted over, giving me no chance to clarify what I had to say. My view differed from his, and therefore it was wrong.

The same lunch period he overstepped the mark when he decided to make an analysis on me regarding my sexuality.

I've noticed a trend. Whenever, and if ever, the subject of me being a lesbian comes up, the women surrounding me are fascinated. They want to know more about it. They want to understand it. They ask me questions. Depth on this is a subject for another whatever-this-is at another time. But this lunch break was no exception. Only having recently made my sexuality known at work, the girls who were sitting with us were full of questions regarding the hows and whys of being attracted to women. I went on to explain that I sometimes feel of level of ambiguity in my sexual orientation. I am physically and emotionally attracted to women. Women turn my head on the street. I forge meaningful relationships with women far easier than I do with men. But, if I got to know a man really well, and he lived up to what I would expect if I ever felt the need to be with a man, then I could not rule out feeling attraction for a man, though I couldn't see it being very likely.

"You see!" mobile monkey broke in triumphantly. "It's just insecurity! She just needs to know a man before she can trust him, she isn't really attracted to women!"

For a few seconds I was absolutely speechless. I did my impersonation of a goldfish with aplomb and finesse. For me to feel any sort of desire for a man, I have to know him personally, because it is the soul of a person you are ultimately in love with, not their gender. I've yet to meet a man whose inspired that kind of love. I thought that was clear. "Doesn't he GET it?" I thought wildly. " I am not physically attracted to men! And anything they reveal about themselves to me has not yet been enough to get me past that!"
Then I realised that, of course, he didn't get it.
Putting my wine glass down on the table, I turned to him and said very calmly. "You have known me all of a month, always within working hours where we've had very little exchange about our personal lives. Don't you dare make an analysis of something it has taken me the better part of twenty years to come to."
He had the decency to blush.
I realised afterwards that such topics were better left avoided in the future. He'd demonstrated how willing he was to let me voice my opinion (and there was noone in the restaurant left in any doubt!). I would open my mouth only to have an enraged assault shoved down it. No level of reasonable explanation, logical argument, or written evidence would ever change his mind and for me to try, with a man I hardly know or care about, would be a wasted effort for these simple reasons: He's a man, he’s a Catholic, and he's Greek.

By the way, Hellenic Mythology is also part of the conspiracy. The Greeks wrote the Bible. That's what mobile monkey told me.

I have the sickening feeling I'm going to be accused of racism by someone, somewhere, by saying mobile monkey won't change his mind because he's Greek. All I can say is, the Greek's have an extremely patriarchal society. mobile monkey himself has stated he would not marry a woman who wanted to work and has confessed this is because of the way he has been brought up by his conservative Greek parents. Not all Greeks kow-tow to the patriarchy, this I know, but this particular one does. It's a fact. If you want to bring racism into it, find someone else. I know I'm not a racist and that's all that matters.

Now, for all his chauvinism, deludedness and general sexism, mobile monkey is a "good man". He does not knowingly set out to hurt, oppress or suppress women. He is not malicious, and so long as I can ignore the more bastardly things he says, he's nice enough. He knows my opinion on men, and while we're at odds on it, he does not set out to provoke me into anger. He's just a product of his society, as any of us are, but he was born with a dick instead of a cunt, so he has all the privileges and very little perspective. He objectifies women without realising the effect he has on the more susceptible women around him, he believes what he has been taught and questions none of it, he doesn't have a problem with women working, but he wouldn't marry one who did.

I've seen various forms of it in the greater majority of men in my life. Frankly, I don't need that kind of shit.

My father is a good man, and I've left the quotations out on purpose. He has his faults, like anyone, but sexism isn't one of them. With a few exceptions, my friends have always chosen good men for partners, men who respect them and see them as equal. I like those men and I get along with them. There've been exceptions, but my friends are a smart lot. There's one cuntlovin' boy I know on the internet who is a  good man. Perhaps the fact that he's gay and that I'm not actually confronted with his gender through a computer screen plays a part in my enjoyment of his conversation, but I'm more inclined to think it's cos he's a good conversationalist. I have met men whose beauty I admire aesthetically, I have had fascinating discussions on a variety of subjects with several men. But none of these  men have inspired desire or need in me. I am whole without them, and I do not require one to fulfil anything within me. I will no longer defend my views by claiming to not hate men, nor will I make room in my existence for them, for no other reason than to look open minded and all encompassing. I'm not. I know good men, but my experience in life has taught me that on the whole they have nothing worthwhile to contribute to women, and nothing to teach or inspire in me. The greater majority of men I have known have been untrustworthy and harbouring bad opinions of women breast-fed them from an early age. They choose women who backup these opinions, who effectively aid the patriarchy in its continued dominance - but that is also another subject for another time. They believe in equality of the sexes, but they continue to objectify and define women in terms of what they want and expect.

Once upon a time, some time ago now, I had a feeling I needed a man. Rather, I had the idea I should have the feeling I needed a man. I was told by several male friends that men did not approach me in the suitable mate-selection venues because I exuded too much confidence. "You just look so intimidating the way you hold your head high and move about." they said "You just look like you don't need men."

If there was anything that cemented my misandry, it was surely that. For a woman to look as though she needs a man before he can approach her is a sure sign the best of men are not ones we should really want to associate with.

I will do my damnedest to change how society, as a whole, views and treats women. I will do my best to have the attitude - held by both men AND women - toward the female turned about face and reversed so that women are no longer a barely tolerated inconvenience. But expending effort on the individual man is a waste of my time, as far as I'm concerned. Devoting  precious energy on one man for a flimsy moment of realisation in which the fella in question declares he has "seen the light!", has no rewards in it for me, because I don't need men in my life.

This makes me a man-hater.
 "Yep."