At lease to me, it doesn’t.

And if that makes me an asshole, well, then, so be it.

Yes, I need your consent to interact with you. Of course I do.

In fact, consent to me needs three things:

1. Enthusiasm.
2. The ability to intellectually understand what you are consenting to.
3. 100% sobriety when consenting.

THAT is what your consent means to me.

And yet, your consent is not as important to me as my consent. And it NEVER will be.

Because my consent is what determines whether anything happens.

Period.

You may consent all you want.

Hell, I got crazy wankers consenting all up in my inbox (no matter that I suspect that numbers 2 and 3 are not fully represented, sometimes).

But If I do not consent, your consent doesn’t amount to a hill of beans. Less, even. I like beans, and I can eat them. And I like to cook.

I can’t eat your consent, or do anything good with it at all.

At least not without my consent.

What about when I am seeking your consent, you ask?

Your consent is important. Critical, even.

However, mine is still more important, because without my consent, your consent will never be sought.