NO.

No, I don’t want to send nudes.
No, I don’t want to wear high heels.
No, I don’t want to get a hotel room with you. We only just met. 
No, I don’t want to tolerate your swearing or spitting or berating your ex.
No, I don’t want to keep us a secret.           No, I don’t want to do that in your mother’s car.

No, I don’t want to smoke weed with you when your kids are upstairs sleeping.

No, I don’t want to hear about how your ex did that better.

No, I don’t want to meet you at 11 o’clock when you’ve been day drinking with the lads and everyone is heading home.
No, I don’t want to be your no strings attached.
No, I don’t want to be your pen pal.
No, I don’t want to calm down.
No, I don’t want a textual relationship.
No, I don’t want to be your last resort.
No, I don’t want to cancel my night out with the girls.
No, I don’t want to change my outfit because it looks like a costume.
No, I don’t want to change my outfit because it’s too dramatic.
No, I don’t want to change my outfit because it’s too casual for a party.
No, I don’t want to wear less makeup.
No, I don’t want to date you for six months and never meet your friends.
No, I don’t want to eat a 99c chicken breast while you eat a steak because you won’t spend money on me.
No, I don’t want to walk home in the rain because you’re already in your pyjamas.
No, I don’t want to spend my entire weekend cleaning the house.
No, I don’t want to cancel my night out with the girls.
No, I don’t want to speak quieter, eat quieter, be quieter.

No.
No, I don’t want to be your last resort.

No.
No, this is not a drama over nothing.
No, I don’t want to dial down the feminist.

No, I don’t want to be you.
No, I don’t want to be with you.
No, I don’t want you.

No.