When it's cold outside, I always wish it were summer. I get sick of carrying around the extra weight of winter wear, and I dream of strolling down the street with nothing on but the bare necessities.
Then I remember what that's really like.
I remember the first time somebody whistled at me on the street. Actually, it wasn't a whistle. it was more like some weird animal noise. I was horrified, but also kind of psyched. It was a weird feeling--a new kind of power but a new vulnerability at the same time.
The excitement part wore off pretty quickly.
What didn't wear off was the persistent sense of aggravation.
Every time I experienced this unwanted whistling or hooting or hissing or kissing or other strange emission of sound, it made me mad. I hated it. I still hate it. Most of the time, when I am walking down the street, I just want to get where I'm going and think what I'm thinking. I'm not looking for an evaluation of my physique or walk or anything else about my superficial being.
