No harm in looking?
I'm tired of being hassled when I walk outside. I'm sure street heckling is not new to any women. But I'm tired of it. It was funny, disturbing, entertaining, complimentary, and confusing the first 47 1/2 times. Now it's become insulting. I'm not a prostitute, nor do I dress like one. If I'm wearing shorts, it's because the weather is warm. If the shorts are...short...it's because that's the only style that sells nowadays. My bare legs, shoulders, back or whatever is not for you. I'm not walking on the streets because I want to be seen and noticed. I just don't have a car. If the bus wait is longer than it takes me to walk, I will walk.
That's it. Leave me alone.
There's no need to wave, call me sexy names, honk, or slow the car down. There's no need to stop the conversation you're having with your friends on the front porch to allow your gaze to slowly trail my footsteps. I don't need your attention, because I don't know you. If I want to feel pretty, I'll be satisfied with hearing it from my friends, my mother, my boyfriend, my husband, my roommates, or anyone else that I know. Just because I'm walking alone doesn't mean I'm lonely. It doesn't mean I'm available, or up for grabs, or interested, or loose, or too confident, or that I need an ego-boost. Just because you see me for a split second, it doesn't mean I need your approval.
Why should I think twice about what I wear before appearing on the sidewalk? If it's 75 degrees outside, why should I worry about covering the tight excercise clothes I'm wearing so that you'll ignore me? Why do you think you need to offer your opinion? Why, after decades of womens' rights movements, don't you get the point? Why should I, in bright daylight, think about asking for a ride home so I don't need to be ashamed of my body?
I wouldn't do it to you, because I respect your privacy. I don't know where you came from and what sort of life you're coming home to. I don't know who loves you, I don't know why your car is beat up, or where you got that great haircut. If I met you at a bar, I sure as hell wouldn't sleep with you that night.
It's not like me to wear a scowl instead of a grin, but that's what I do when I walk. I'm not a bitch, I just don't want to be visually undressed every three minutes.
Stop it. I'm not your Barbie doll. Don't pose me on your perverted little shelf.