This is going to sound weird, but I don’t get cat-called.
It might be because of my Chronic Bitchface.
It might be because of my undesirable physical shape.
It might be because of my short hair.
Although it’s probably mostly because of my agoraphobia which keeps me out of situations in which other humans might get close enough to speak to me.
I also tend to be really offputting to anybody who tries to talk to me on the street. Like, really. Even if they’re friends. I have to do some pretty quick gear shifting when I surprise run into people. I’ve flipped people off before who were trying to wave at me because I thought they wanted to fight.
But anyway.
Imagine my surprise when I totally got sort-of kind-of catcalled on my walk today. And imagine my further surprise when I realized it’s probably been going on for awhile.
Hear me out.
My dog has really long legs. She actually looks sort of silly because she was obviously supposed to be a shorter animal, but mutts end up with weird proportions sometimes and she’s kind of a dog giraffe. So when this old man who sits on one of the stoops along my dog-walking route kept telling me something about legs (I’m usually on the phone or listening to music, so I couldn’t hear him) I assumed he was commenting on my tall dog. So I would smile and nod and go about my day.
But today he said it when I was in-between calls, and I realized that he was complimenting my legs.
So my inner monologue went like this:
“Oooohhh. Ick.”
“Quick, make a face. No, tell that old bastard off. No, kick him with your great legs if he thinks they’re so great.”
“Oops. Too far away.”
“Go back.”
“No keep walking.”
“So that’s what he’s been talking about all these weeks.”
“Oh man, I agreed with him!”
“I am so dumb.”
“Not that you’ve set the precedent, you can’t go back and change it.”
“Oh yes you can. Tomorrow when he tries that leg shit, just tell him you don’t appreciate it.”
“But what if he gets mad? I’m trying to be a good neighbor here.”
“There’s a line between being a good neighbor and letting some old bastard catcall you every. single. day. Besides, he’s about 80. I think you can take him if he starts to pop off.”
“Wait a second, this guy is a tiny old man who sits on a stoop in the ghetto all day everyday…”
Which lead me to thinking more abstractly. As a mental experiment I changed our genders. What if I was a dude with nice big arms and an adorable old lady always complimented me on them. Yeah, the repetition would be annoying but completely non-threatening. But then again, I am not a man, and this is not an equal society. I’ve had little old ladies come up to me and compliment me on everything from my hair to my shoes, and at no point did that ick me out.
So it’s a different scenario.
But in 50 years, I really want to be able to tell strapping young men that their arms are nice if I feel like it and not have anybody freak out on me or make it weird. So why would I be a dick about that old man having his say? And it’s not like he’s threatening.
But that’s still a weird thing to say to somebody you never met. Which is why I’m waiting until I’m old to pull out all my creepy old person lines. But he’s old now… but when I’m old I won’t keep going if some hot young thing is uncomfortable. That wouldn’t be fun.
But am I actually uncomfortable?
It’s a mystery. I honestly have no idea what I’ll say or do on our walk tomorrow.