We were coming home from a gig on Saturday night and stopped for sweet treats. This is a necessary ritual that Steve (friend and drummer) and I must perform after every gig. Of course, this doesn’t always mean something sweet, but after a grueling day’s work (ok, grueling mostly because of the length of time we have to be onsite- sitting around for hours and then performing for the last 2 hours) we need to re-fuel for the usual long ride home.
We hit a 7-11. It was an actual sweet treat stop for me this time, because the cupcakes at the reception looked SO DELICIOUS, but I did not get one. I replaced the idea with a Rice Krispies bar and a 12 oz cherry Slurpee. I can’t say they lived up to the beautiful cupcake, but I enjoyed them nonetheless. So as we’re getting in the car, Steve says, “Did you hear that?” I was like, “Nooo.” “You just got cat called, girl!” I was like, “COME ON. Surely they were joking.” I remembered back to the time when Sr. Perpetua, my 5th/6th grade teacher, told us that a gang of construction workers had hooted at her at age 60 in her habit. We all thought it was pretty funny, she wasn’t sure if they meant it or not. Steve didn’t seem to think these particular guys were kidding. I glanced over and saw 4 dudes smiling my way. Jury’s still out.
Before I go on, I feel it necessary to quantify the following statement, as to not be confused with over-the-top, self-proclaimed beauty and writer Samantha Brick. I think every woman on the planet has been on the receiving end of cat calls and other unwanted advances. I don’t think I’m “special” for the attention. I believe we all deal with it. And on we go…
Cat calls is something I’ve learned to live with. As a frequent walker, since around age 13, I’ve been dealing with it. As a young girl, you don’t even know it’s for you. Slowly you realize, and it’s “Who me?” Then you may find yourself feeling pretty good about yourself. “I must look a’ight.” Then, after the initial flattery wears off, these guys become “total losers”. They are total losers for quite some time- probably reaching the apex of annoyance in your late 20’s. But then, if you go out and nobody beeps or yells, it’s, “Hey. Where are all my losers?” You find yourself wondering if maybe you aren’t so hot after all. I’ve never quite broken it down before now, and I’m not proud- but it turns out cat callers can get in your head.
I’ve not been too much at a loss for the callers and the hitter-onners at work (another fun group of “total losers”). I thought it might all be over when I got engaged, then married. No. Not so much. Almost worse, really. Then, I thought when I got pregnant and started to show that MAYBE it would finally be over. But no. Not really at all. I’ve had several come-ons while dragging around, feeling horrible and looking (at least to myself) like some sort of bloated zombie. Granted, spring has been in the air since February. I think maybe men are blinded by biology. Maybe you’ve had this experience also- the one day you don’t shower, you are wearing sweatpants, no make up, hair all a mess and you just have to run a few errands…. that is the day you get the most “hollas”. It’s like some sort of cruel joke. Especially on the heels of going out to a bar when you actually tried to look good, and had no takers. I found around my mid-twenties, that it all was just kind of funny. The guys can be SOOOO serious about their hoot or holler… and then ZOOM, they are gone. I’ve often wanted to yell something back, like, “Wait! I think I LOVE YOU!” but really, we shouldn’t engage. Ever. Just let it go… in the end, it’s all just ridiculous.
Just yesterday, I went to buy some soft slippers after being diagnosed with extreme swollen ankles and cellulitis on my right ankle, which is some sort of bacterial skin infection. As I’m standing there waiting to check out, feeling pretty bad- rockin’ my “clankles” that have a diseased looking infection, this man rounds the corner and looks at me like he’s never seen a lady before. He was roughly 75. He stopped short and said, “Well, HELLO.” “Hi,” I managed to get out but just looked the other way. I couldn’t engage. It was all too much. Leave me be with my problems, kind sir.
So in regards to the infection, I’ve been ordered off my foot for the next 2 days. I’m not happy about this at all, for so many reasons. Turns out being pregnant is no joke. Doctors don’t fool around with anything. Whatever is going on on my ankle- whether it’s cellulitis or some other thing, they don’t even want to cut into it to culture it unless they absolutely have to- for fear of letting some other bacteria into it. So far antibiotics seem to be getting me going in the right direction, but doctors are still treating it seriously. I guess the big worry is that whatever it is could enter the bloodstream and hurt the baby. So I’m being closely monitored.
In conclusion, I’m going to go get my feet up. If my cat-callers could only see me now- “YOOOOWWWWW!” ; )