to ponder what, exactly, is accomplished when dudes smooch at you on the street, especially before nine am? When I crossed the street this morning, the sun barely peeking out, this man driving a truck found the energy to not only make kiss noises — a wolf-call so commonplace on my block it blends in with the soundfabric of car engines and busta’s beats and i no longer notice it — but also to holler, “yeah, lookin good! baby!” for the approximate duration of the stoplight, as I crossed six lanes of traffic. I thought my outfit was pretty good today, too, but never dreamed a baggy thrifted sweater-poncho and rainboots would bleed sex. And still, I, jaded to the “whatever” point at this kind of thing, I must ask: what does that guy accomplish? Does he really think i’m gonna be all “yeah baby thanks here’s my number?” or perhaps that I might lift up my sweater and flash him on my way to work? Honestly, I am wondering if there is an endgame to this, or whether, when street-harrassers street-harrass, it’s just that their testosterone and sexual fortitude is so unbridled they cannot control it, even if they have probably only been awake for 15 minutes? Or do they want me to think as much? I really want to know, cause i’m flattered and all, but i don’t get it.
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they want to remind you that THEY’RE IN CHARGE here.
Do you for-real really want to know?
I don’t think there’s supposed to be any kind of endgame. It’s just appreciation, albeit annoying, lecherous appreciation.
Not to try and understand the inner workings of the minds of truck drivers, but I live close to Emory and I watch those gorgeous, shirtless pre-med boys run up and down the road. Sometimes I have to restrain myself from whistling at them. I’m not looking to get any numbers, and I’m pretty sure it’s not my testosterone or sexual fortitude, but shit. They’re really pretty.
I don’t think there’s supposed to be any kind of endgame. It’s just appreciation, albeit annoying, lecherous appreciation.
Not to try and understand the inner workings of the minds of truck drivers, but I live close to Emory and I watch those gorgeous, shirtless pre-med boys run up and down the road. Sometimes I have to restrain myself from whistling at them. I’m not looking to get any numbers, and I’m pretty sure it’s not my testosterone or sexual fortitude, but shit. They’re really pretty.