[Content Note: Misogyny.]
I will never stopped being amazed that, in the year of our lord Jesus Jones two thousand and fifteen, there are still adult human men who refuse to talk to me if my husband is present.
Won't answer my questions directly.
Won't look at me when they're speaking.
Won't even acknowledge my existence.
And, if these same adult human men happen to have both our contact information, even if they have been informed I am the primary contact for whatever service they are providing to us, they will absolutely refuse to call me, or text me, or email me. Not when they can call or text or email Iain.
And then they act like it's a fucking mystery when I'm a less than a perfectly, deferentially polite shrinking violet (read: bitch) when they are obliged, to their utter horror, to speak with me directly.
Once again, lads: If you treat women like shit, don't be surprised when you get in return only as good as you've given.