I don’t know any girls who are scared of me. I’m intimidating and persuasive and intermittently perceptive, but I’m not scary.
Honestly, the scariest thing about me is everything I see in you.
After a check-in from those who can speak more definitively to this topic, I have been informed:
- If “scary” means worrying I might spontaneously ignite, explode with malevolent rage, and threaten someone’s existence, then no, I’m not scary at all. I am apparently “the biggest, fluffiest teddy bear” in that respect. 😑
- I am sometimes scary in the moment, when the combination of things I’m doing and saying is just right, and you wonder for a few seconds if you’ve misunderstood everything about me. At which point I grin, and you realize you were pathetic and stupid enough to fall for it again, and we both take a moment to savor just how hopeless you are.
- And I’m told that I’m scary in another sense. Scary like, say… undetonated World War II ordnance in your backyard. The bomb’s been there for decades, and it’s clearly never going to go off, but it’s still a bomb and could disassemble your world with ease if everything went wrong at once. It isn’t a danger in any practical sense, but the potential is there. Especially if you’re the kind of girl who likes to go digging around old, rusty things that are oft best left buried.