# The Story of Mary MacLane/March 8

THERE are several things in the world for which I, of womankind and nineteen years, have conceived a forcible repugnance—or rather, the feeling was born in me; I did not have to conceive it.
Often my mind chants a fervent litany of its own that runs somewhat like this:
From women and men who dispense odors of musk; from little boys with long curls; from the kind of people who call a woman's figure her "shape": Kind Devil, deliver me.
From all sweet girls; from "gentlemen"; from feminine men: Kind Devil, deliver me.
From black under-clothing—and any color but white; from hips that wobble as one walks; from persons with fishy ​eyes; from the books of Archibald C. Gunter and Albert Ross: Kind Devil, deliver me.
From the soft persistent, maddening glances of water-cart drivers: Kind Devil, deliver me.
From lisle-thread stockings; from round, tight garters; from brilliant brass belts: Kind Devil, deliver me.
From insipid sweet wine; from men who wear moustaches; from the sort of people that call legs "limbs"; from bedraggled white petticoats: Kind Devil, deliver me.
From unripe bananas; from bathless people; from a waist-line that slopes up in the front: Kind Devil, deliver me.
From an ordinary man; from a bad stomach, bad eyes, and bad feet: Kind Devil, deliver me.
From red note-paper; from a rhinestone-studded comb in my hair; from weddings: Kind Devil, deliver me.
From cod-fish balls; from fried egg ​plant, fried beef-steak, fried pork-chops, and fried French toast: Kind Devil, deliver me.
From wax flowers off a wedding-cake, under glass; from thin-soled shoes; from tape-worms; from photographs perched up all over my house: Kind Devil, deliver me.
From soft old bachelors and soft old widowers; from any masculine thing that wears a pale blue necktie; from agonizing elocutionists who recite "Curfew Shall Not Ring To-Night," and "The Lips That Touch Liquor Shall Never Touch Mine"; from a Salvation Army singing hymns in slang: Kind Devil, deliver me.
From people who persist in calling my good body "mere vile clay"; from idiots who appear to know all about me and enjoin me not to bathe my eyes in hot water since it hurts their own; from fools who tell me what I "want" to do: Kind Devil, deliver me.
From a nice young man; from tin ​spoons; from popular songs: Kind Devil, deliver me.
From pleasant old ladies who tell a great many uninteresting, obvious lies; from men with watch-chains draped across their middles; from some paintings of the old masters which I am unable to appreciate; from side-saddles: Kind Devil, deliver me.
From the kind of man who sings, "Oh, Promise Me!"—who sings at it; from constipated dressmakers; from people who don't wash their hair often enough: Kind Devil, deliver me.
From a servant girl with false teeth; from persons who make a regular practice of rubbing oily mixtures into their faces; from a bed that sinks in the middle: Kind Devil, deliver me.
And so on and on and on. And in each petition I am deeply sincere. But, kind Devil, only bring me Happiness and I will more than willingly be annoyed by all these things. Happiness for two days, kind Devil, and ​then, if you will, languishing widowers, lisle-thread stockings—anything, for the rest of my life.
And hurry, kind Devil, pray—for I am weary.