Fuck you random guy who sent me that email. You know which one I'm talking about: the one where you started off politely with a "You don't know me but..." before segueing into your stupid hypothetical question about my views on the role of a journalist (the fuuuuu....?) because you needed to know "how professional [I am]".
Seriously: fuck you and no I shall not reply to you. I shall not, Sir! I have started a reply email several times since receiving yours but each time I find myself unable to come up with something remotely civil to write back. "Do you want to try rewriting this email without the implied insult?" Is about the closest I've come and even then I have to stop myself from adding a vitriolic PS that's basically just me mashing the keyboard at random.
Maybe I'm jumping to conclusions but I wouldn't be quite so pissed off if I didn't strongly suspect that at least some of your shitty attitude stems from the fact that I'm a girl writing about a very male-dominated industry.
Probably I also wouldn't be quite so shitty if your shitty email didn't remind me so much of a conversation I had maybe a year ago with some other dickhead on the phone. Bear in mind this was the first time I'd ever spoken to this douche who - like you, I suspect - was a random member of the public wanting me to write about a dodgy company in which he was an investor. It went something like this:
Him: (Blah, blah, blah)... Tell me, do you understand the concept of internal rate of return.
Him: What do you understand by it?
Me: (Pause) Why are you asking me this?
Him: I just want to know that you know what you're talking about.
What. The. Fuck. Seriously: what the fuck?! When I go into the doctor about that weird lump on my earlobe (um, seriously, it's actually starting to freak me out a bit) do I start our session by asking if he or she knows the proper name for my funny bone? No. No I do not. Because I am not a psycho.
Just because I have tits and got kinda crappy marks in my Applicable Maths TEE exam 11 years ago (although, hah, you have know way of knowing that so suck it!) please do not assume that I'm not good at my job. I mean, I'm no scientician but I'm pretty sure the addition of a cock would not necessarily improve my ability to perform the tasks I am paid to.
But it's been a long, rough week. I've had stress and disappointment at work and in my personal life. I've stumbled across unpaid bills I'd forgotten existed and I've just realised I made a big mistake on last year's tax return. Generally I feel like a confused little pony that's been ridden hard and put away wet. As a result, perhaps I've judged you too hastily and inaccurately. Certainly I apologise in advance if any of the sweeping conclusions I've made about your reasons for writing that shitty email were incorrect and you're in fact a right-on feminist kind of a guy whose reasonable comments have been misinterpreted by my tired old brain. But, on reflection, I really, really doubt it so, honestly, fuck you again.