Cute

The word 'cute' and I have crossed paths a lot more times in my life than I would've ideally preferred. As a kid, because I was chubby, and nicknamed "Bubbles", everybody assumed I had the Awww-Factor. But that was not to be. For one, I was grumpy, like, all the time. Second, I refused to be friends with anyone but my equally surly-looking gorilla stuffed toy. I shared a destructive relationship with everything pink, frock-like and Barbie. My parents could reconcile with the fact that I wasn't bouncy, chatty and laugh-y like the other kids but the one thing they couldn't get over was my intense hatred for hugs. "But Bubbles, what if Prince Charming wants to hug you one day," my mother asked me lovingly one day. I turned away from my Gorilla, stared at her and said grimly, "I will kill him."

That's the day I turned from cutesy, plumpy baby to the Omen child.

But "cute" never left me - just like my baby fat (and I guess, for that very reason). Instead it acquired new connotations. It followed me around as a 'fat girl' compliment. A rumour went around the pithoo fields, that the dictionary meaning of cute was 'ugly, but tolerable' or passable, or something equally as demeaning.

I tried to act cute once. For the stupidest and the most unfeminist reason - a boy.

"It's SO EASY to make guys fall in love with you," a girl told me once. "Just act dumb and cute. Make them look strong. Act cute."

So when I met 'him' I widened my eyes, leaned over unconsciously, said something stupid and giggled. For the first time in years, he gave me five minutes of his time.

I remember thinking it could've been longer if I'd had luscious hair and a great ass like my friend. 

She's cute, he later told a friend.

That's why I fucking hate that word.