To the guys who shouted, “How much?” as I walked down Michigan Avenue

Seriously guys. There’s nothing fun or funny about your question. It’s insulting to me. It’s demeaning to my gender. And it’s complete uncalled for.

So, what was it about me that made you feel the need to shout out? Here I am, minding my own business, walking home from a great late-night dinner with friends. I’m wearing a pair of jeans, and a light weather jacket covers me. I’m not leering at you. I’m not doing some homeless person shout out to Jesus. I’m not flashing you. What was it that made you say, “Hmm. It would be really funny to pretend like this woman is a prostitute and shout out the car window at her!”

After you shouted and passed me, it’s kinda funny how the light turned red and allowed me to catch up with you without me even having to speed up my stride. It’s also kinda funny how you rolled up your window by time I approached. Was that your attempt at pretending that you didn’t just shout at me like a whore? Is it that when I came eye-to-eye with you and ended up being a middle-aged woman, you were embarrassed by your actions?

I also took notice that when I went into my purse to break out my mace, you realized that, yes, I’m crazy enough to use it, and you changed lanes as quickly as possible. Did it suddenly click that for every action, there’s a reaction? That perhaps you shouldn’t shout at people on the street, since she might be packing something in that designer handbag of hers that she’s not afraid to use?

Whether you realizing the error of your ways or being met with defensive measures, you would have thought that would have been enough. But, no. You still felt the need to lean out your window while driving off (you pansy ass!) and yell that I’m a cunt.

I’d like to point one thing out: you’re in a fucking Saturn. Go back to the suburbs, fuck your wife, and think about all the drunk assholes who will one day shout at your daughter like she’s a whore.


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