[ He "admits" to have never been a woman, and she chuckles with a wry smile. It's not that she thinks less of him for not understanding -- she doesn't think he's capable of understanding. She doesn't think any man is, because they live in a world that teaches them that the things they do to women are fine, just, logical. That women are the fools, are helpless, deserve it.
She does not appear surprised to hear his sordid history (look, when she decided to make a cuck out of her god-king, she knew exactly what she was doing), and in fact, she mostly just looks entertained by it. She's not someone who cares all that much about respecting the institution of marriage, nor does she think it's Jaskier's responsibility to stay away from married women. Their fidelity has nothing to do with him, unless he is a very different man than Julie believes him to be. ] Yeah, and those were the ones who weren't in love. Those were the ones miserable enough with what they had to be lookin' for somethin' else. It's when you don't want anyone else that makes you weak. Gives 'em the upper hand.
It's like bein' on a tightrope all the time, with no net to catch you, and you know you're gonna hit the ground eventually. You can give a man your whole world, and he'll throw it back in your face without a thought, 'cause it was never gonna be good enough for him. Men, most men, don't want a woman to be a person. They just want mommies and maids they're allowed to fuck, too. So you cook and clean up after him, you listen to his problems, you raise his brats, you lay there long enough for him to get off and fall asleep, all 'cause you love him, right? You love him, so you don't ask for any of that for yourself. Because the second you ask for anythin' more from him, need more, he'll disappear. I remember readin' this statistic once, that if a woman gets cancer, there's a seventy-five percent chance her husband leaves her while she's sick. Doesn't matter how old they are, how long they've been married, nothin'. Seventy-five percent. When the man gets cancer, the woman stays more than eighty percent of the time.
Inhale right after the hit, don't let it sit in your throat. That'll irritate you, make you cough. [ He coughs and she takes the joint back, takes another long pull. She has to think about her answer, eyes cast over the vineyard, the sun beginning to lower in the sky. ] My story... my story ends with lightnin'. Love's not anythin' I'll ever need to worry about.
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She does not appear surprised to hear his sordid history (look, when she decided to make a cuck out of her god-king, she knew exactly what she was doing), and in fact, she mostly just looks entertained by it. She's not someone who cares all that much about respecting the institution of marriage, nor does she think it's Jaskier's responsibility to stay away from married women. Their fidelity has nothing to do with him, unless he is a very different man than Julie believes him to be. ] Yeah, and those were the ones who weren't in love. Those were the ones miserable enough with what they had to be lookin' for somethin' else. It's when you don't want anyone else that makes you weak. Gives 'em the upper hand.
It's like bein' on a tightrope all the time, with no net to catch you, and you know you're gonna hit the ground eventually. You can give a man your whole world, and he'll throw it back in your face without a thought, 'cause it was never gonna be good enough for him. Men, most men, don't want a woman to be a person. They just want mommies and maids they're allowed to fuck, too. So you cook and clean up after him, you listen to his problems, you raise his brats, you lay there long enough for him to get off and fall asleep, all 'cause you love him, right? You love him, so you don't ask for any of that for yourself. Because the second you ask for anythin' more from him, need more, he'll disappear. I remember readin' this statistic once, that if a woman gets cancer, there's a seventy-five percent chance her husband leaves her while she's sick. Doesn't matter how old they are, how long they've been married, nothin'. Seventy-five percent. When the man gets cancer, the woman stays more than eighty percent of the time.
Inhale right after the hit, don't let it sit in your throat. That'll irritate you, make you cough. [ He coughs and she takes the joint back, takes another long pull. She has to think about her answer, eyes cast over the vineyard, the sun beginning to lower in the sky. ] My story... my story ends with lightnin'. Love's not anythin' I'll ever need to worry about.