means to an end

I suspect that at my age/weight/position in life, I should somehow be flattered or appreciative of the odd catcall as I’m walking down the street. It’s really hard to say because we spent the last year and a half in the Middle Of Nowhere where I could literally walk for miles without running into another person, let alone a street. My copious television consumption has led me to believe that women who are about to turn thirty like being objectified, even if they know they’re not supposed to. But now the issue is more than purely academic since in the last two days I’ve had multiple men in cars honking at me while on my way to the dentist, grocery store etc., and I have to say I’m a little conflicted. Mostly it just scares the crap out of me. I’ve learned that city life in general and city driving in particular involves a good deal of honking—and on the whole very little of it has to do with me. For example, yesterday I saw a person take an admittedly close (but nevertheless successful) right turn at a red light. The oncoming driver honked at the turning driver, so the turning driver honked at the person now behind him. This induced the oncoming driver to honk more, which then precipitated the same in response. They continued this for about a block and a half until (I can only assume) it was no longer fun. This isn’t my favorite way of life, but I’ve been told to get used to it. The Big City has very little in the way of functional mass transit, and while there are those like me who prefer to limit ourselves to walking distance to avoid being stopped at a traffic light every fifteen feet and paying $3/hour for parking (in quarters, no exceptions) or those who brave bicycles to save the environment, almost everyone drives. And because this is a relatively Old City with no particular plan, the sidewalks and the streets more or less run into one another with no truly discernable separation. This is why when a man feels in necessary to honk and shout as he passes me, it’s fairly terrifying. It’s loud, sure, but I’m also not certain whether he’s expressing his appreciation for my ample backside (or equally ample frontside) or if he’s warning me to jump into the nearest topiary because he’s planning to mount the curb and drive where I had been walking for a while. Sure, my previously held notions on feminism and its meaning for my life have been called into severe question lately. But more on that another time. For now, suffice it to say that all this exuberant goodwill towards my lady parts is eventually going to make me pee my pants.

j