An Open Letter To My Catcallers

I called you out tonight.

I can’t think of any other reason for you to tell me that I’m “lookin’ good, babe”, that you’d “get on that”, and make kissing noises as I walked past, other than to intimidate me.

I was walking alone. You were part of a group of four.

It was pitch dark. I was leaving an 8 hour day at work.

You had probably done the same that day. You too, had probably dealt with the stresses of the daily grind.

I just wanted to get back to my car.

You catcalled me, and I called you out. It was probably something we both could have done without.

“Lookin’ good, babe. I’d get on that.”

“Excuse me?

What are you expecting to happen? So you find me attractive, do you want to be my boyfriend?

Shall I write down my number for you? In fact, would you like to come with me now, you can meet my parents, we can start planning our wedding?”

“No…”

“I’m sorry, am I making you feel uncomfortable?!”

I feel you. Feminism has come too far, right? Do you not think I deserve to feel safe as I walk back to my car, on my way home from work?

Is the world not a dangerous enough place? Is there not enough for me to be mindful of as I walk back alone, to my car, in a potentially dangerous area without mindless and inane comments made- presumably for the soul purpose of either a) making me feel unsafe or b) giving you a fraction of a second of entertainment via a power trip- which, when responded to, you don’t even have a coherent answer to?

Or are you just so short sighted and inflicted by our fast food culture that you can’t comprehend the consequences- for yourself or others- of your actions?

Why do I have to remind you that I am a human being before you check yourself?

I am not yours. I never was.

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