This is the vainest thing I’ve ever done. However, I’m sorry I’m not sorry, because it’s funny, and keeping a list gives me something to do on my phone while creepy men hit on me.
My walk to work this summer involved several things: rushed pit stops at The Bean, literally crossing the isle of Manhattan on foot from East to West, and several creepy men saying things to me on a daily basis.
Absorb this information with the knowledge that I never get hit on in appropriate social situations.
- “Lord, it must be raining beautiful women today!” (It was an excruciatingly sunny day)
- There was the time the owner of a street fruit stand stared me down and proceeded to make kissy noises in a heavy Indian accent (I don’t know how but it’s different) at me for a good half block.
- “Hey Cinderella.” Uh, is it just me, or is this the worst Disney princess to be compared to? It means he can either see me scrubbing floors or being a ditz and forgetting my shoes somewhere. No thanks.
- Someone actually howled at me. Life a wolf. In the middle of the day.
- From a truck, rapidly moving away: “Hey sexy!” When I did not respond: “Ayyyyy! Can she not hear me dude? Dude, dude, slow down. Hey, sexyyyy!”
- At Tompkins Square Park, while I was wearing a necklace with a key on it: “Is that the key to my heart?” Why, yes, if a rusty key from some flea market in Florida fits your aortic valve, go ahead. Take it.
- “God Bless ya.” I actually responded to that with “Thanks. You too.” It would have been rude not to, you know?
- “Gorgeous Jesus.” I liked this one, because although he was definitely looking at me, his lack of pause to imply a coma and glazed-over eyes makes it a possibility he was just expressing and sharing his love for God.
- “My wife, I love you.” Do not remember saying ‘I do,’ but maybe that night I forgot my glass slipper I forgot a lot more.
One time I was walking on Broadway in Soho and the most nonchalant 50 year old man, leaning back on scaffolding, said: “You’re pretty.” He was real sure he had game. Thanks creepy dude on the street the age of my father! You have fixed my self-confidence issues and I want to have sex with you now!
Just this morning a middle aged man turned to me as we walked by each other and whispered, as if he was doing me a favor, “Beautiful legs.” What did he get out of this? Does he feel like a good Samaritan? Does he see himself as the quintessential judge of leg attractiveness and thought he would make my day by sharing his opinion of mine? Or was he drunk?
I’m still waiting for a meow. I’d probably marry that one.