The benefit of being aware that I legitimately struggle with social convention is that I can check myself and apologise with grace and move on rather than getting defensive and feeling like a monster for messing up.
It’s been 3 weeks
Since your lips first met mine
And 1 week
Since the last time
Yet I still hear your mumbles
And feel you hands on my back
As clear as the summer sky
Every time you name
Pops up on my phone screen
Do you feel the same?
Do you want the same?
No matter what your friends tell me
I don’t trust their words
Unless I hear them from you
So darling,
Please tell me
Do you want the same?
—  The message I can’t bring myself to send
I think it ought not to be set down as certain, that a man must be acceptable to every woman he may happen to like himself. […] How then was I to be—to be in love with him the moment he said he was with me? How was I to have an attachment at his service, as soon as it was asked for?
—  Jane Austen, Mansfield Park, Volume 3, Chapter 4 (1814).
Every girl is expected to have caucasian blue eyes, full Spanish lips, a classic button nose, hairless Asian skin with a California tan, a Jamaican dance hall butt, long Swedish legs, small Japanese feet, the abs of a lesbian gym owner, the hips of a nine-year-old boy, and the arms of Michelle Obama. The only person close to actually achieving this look is Kim Kardashian, who, as we know, was made by Russian scientists to sabotage our athletes. Everyone else is struggling.
—  Tina Fey