Crankypants lately. I’m tired of being stared at or otherwise trifled with in public.
Yesterday I got an ice cream cone and this guy passing by leered, “Lecker eis, oder?” (Tasty ice cream, or what?) He was somehow surprised that I didn’t want a nice chat. Maybe I would have responded more positively had he in some way indicated that he was interested in me as a person, rather than as a prop to prove to himself how assertive and manly he is. He didn’t go to the trouble of treating me as an individual, so he didn’t earn the benefit of the doubt.
I don’t feel good about consistently shooting down men who approach me in public; often I feel guilty about it, because what if they’re just trying to be nice? What if they think I seem cool and they just don’t know what to say? When there’s some indication of the latter, I’m typically more polite, but it’s not my job to teach a grown man manners.
This is also why I never hit on anyone I don’t already know. Approach a stranger? In public? And a woman, especially? In many ways the greatest courtesy I can think of in such a situation is to leave the person alone, so that’s what I do. I might hold a door open or smile over a shared joke, but I’m not the person with the opening lines.
So I’ve been cranky. Tonight I’m going out in public again, but this time with a gay male friend with whom my boobs will either be a non-issue or mentioned in a natural-wonders-of-the-world! way, not a creepy, possessive way.
(further reading: Schrödinger’s Rapist)
I have to go to work now, so no extensive commentary, but reading this from you reminded me of this from I, Asshole (that’s her blog name, not me trying to say cleverly that I wrote it myself). I’ve noticed (and had it pointed out to me) a lot lately, that when I’m alone in a public place, I deliberately adopt a DO NOT TALK TO ME attitude and habits, like a little shell, which is…kind of sad, but generally fairly effective? Kind of? Somewhat?
