Lecture for a Lecher
Please, mister, stop peering at my crossed legs. I can see you watching me through the gap in the seats and it makes me very uncomfortable. I doubt it would matter that I am only 15, but please turn around. You are so creepy.
Hey guys, it’s not really exciting to be hollered at from a car or across the street. It seems odd, as the only thing you could possibly get from me would be my discomfort or confirmation that I’m a bitch if I flip you off as I walk by. I’m quite sure you’re not looking for my opinion on politics or which school I attend.
Why is it that no woman could possibly be dancing to just dance? No really, I did not get ready earlier, thinking about how much pleasure I would get from feeling a random crotch grinding into my 21-year old rear.
Sir, out of politeness to you as an old man of perhaps 80, I have continued speaking with you. No, I don’t have any Irish in me. Oh, no, I definitely do not want any in me, thank you very much.
Dude, I’m out here playing on the beach with my child. See the sand castles? They aren’t shouting “Please stare at my ass.” At least not to anyone, except perhaps you.
I smiled at you as an apologetic, exhausted, harassed parent on the plane trying to keep their kid from kicking the backs of seats or making any inhuman sounds designed to age every passenger within 20 miles. It wasn’t authority to ogle me for the rest of the flight.
Again, boys, the hollering from the car thing… I’m almost 40. But I guess that’s hard to tell while going 30 miles an hour past me.
Which is how I know it’s got nothing to do with me or how I look. It’s about making another person feel uncomfortable in order for you to feel powerful.
I’d ask if in 5 or 10 or 20 years from now, I will still be dealing with people determined to make me feel uncomfortable for their own whims and desires, but sadly, I know the answer.