Hope Springs Eternal
Spring has finally sprung and I am so excited!!
Bare legs, short skirts, thin blouses, clingy dresses – all the rites of passage to spring.
“Hey Boo!”
“Damn, you fine!”
Horns being blown.
All rites of passage to spring.
I’ve been mulling this subject for a while. It is something that I am passionate about and I find it hard to articulate without snapping.
See, it boils my blood when I walk down the street in my Ann Taylor suit or my Talbot skirt and sweater set and someone has the audacity to cat call me. It says to me: “ I see you are a professional woman but I must demean you and lower you to my animal level.”
Spring to me has always been a rebirth – the dark colors change to vibrant and happy pastels, boots become sexy strappy shoes, blouses are airy and clingy, and skirts are flowy and sassy.
And yet I cringe when I see the latest spring fashions of soft silks that accentuate the waist line and skirts that show off the legs because I know regardless of how nice the outfit, some man will find a way to make it seem cheap and whorish.
Now, don’t get me wrong; I appreciate a compliment; however, I don’t appreciate being sexually harassed while I walk three blocks to my job. And while there are some of you reading this and thinking I am over reacting with the sexual harassment, but if someone screams to you to let the wind blow your skirt up so that they can see, what is that?
I’ve asked several of my male friends what is the expectation of the person screaming at me from his moving vehicle?
Am I to chase him down to thank him for disrespecting me and reducing my professional attire to that of a street-walking whore?
Or maybe I am to tell him how I was hoping he would scream at me and that we should get together and see what the future will bring.
My male friends explained to me that there is no expectation. No, they confirmed what I already thought – there is a disconnect in the male brain that doesn’t allow him to distinguish from appropriate and inappropriate behavior when he sees an attractive woman. While my male friends were quick to ask me to sympathize with their pathetic species, I had to explain that a man’s inappropriate behavior makes a woman feel less attractive, and it cheapens her importance.
I find the three blocks to my job every morning and evening to be the most painful walk of my life. I akin it to the infamous green mile.
Because I have to walk at a brisk pace while mentally trying to render myself invisible from the three construction sites I have to pass. And once I’ve gotten away from the construction men, I then have to face the truck drivers and morning and evening commuters that line the streets I must cross to get to my building or to my car.
And waiting for the light to change so that I may cross the street is the most painful of the trip. I cringe for thirty seconds, refusing to make eye contact and hoping that my bare legs or my red lips don’t draw the attention of a car driving by.
I wish for one day a man could be a woman. I hope that in that day he would experience cat calling, inappropriate touching, and any other lewd behavior that some man wants me to empathize with.
But since my wish won’t come true, I hope that the next time a male is about to scream some lewd comment to a woman walking to her job, school, lunch, or to day care, that he sees his mother. Or daughter. Or sister. Or wife. And in that brief moment, he realizes that we too are at least one of those things to someone and for that alone, we deserve common courtesy and respect.
