Last night, on my way home from the gym, I got catcalled by a group of men.
Which really isn’t all that unusual. Women are often targeted by brutish hollers and wolf-whistles as we go about our daily lives. Even if we’ve just come off the elliptical machine and are drenched with sweat.
Watch what a day walking the streets of New York City is like for a woman. (Post continues after video.)
Sometimes the catcalls are jovial, funny even. Sometimes they’re explicit. Sometimes they’re just downright offensive. Always, they’re intended to make a person feel uncomfortable.
And last night, when three young men made degrading comments about my body, I felt exactly that.
Uncomfortable. Painfully so.
“You shouldn’t cover them up.”
“You shouldn’t be covering those puppies up. You should let them breathe.”
“Pretty sexy legs, too.”
As soon as the words filled the otherwise silent night air my throat went dry. My face felt like it was overheating. All I could think is that I wanted to disappear. I planted my eyes to the asphalt beneath my feet and made a beeline for my car.
“Jesus. We’re just trying to compliment you, what, you think you’re too good for us?”
“Yeah why are you ignoring us, you stuck up bitch?”
I calmly swung my car door open, turned the engine on, perhaps pushed a little harder than usual on the accelerator, and made my way towards the exit as one of the ‘men’ threw his drink towards my car.