Is it National Objectify a Woman Month or something? No, wait, that's every month. Sorry. I misspoke. Anyway...
I have this co-worker. I don't know whether I've ever given her a cute nickname or an anonymous initial in here before, but let's call her TG, for Townie Girl. Why? Because TG was born, raised, and still lives in one of those local places that is famous, or perhaps infamous, for its townies, and she has not broken the mold. I mean to say, TG, much like your humble correspondent, though intelligent, attractive, and hard-working as well as possessed of at least a modicum of education, a middle-class income, and a designer purse, is not, and probably will not ever be, free from her essentially white trash roots.
And so it came to pass that yesterday one of TG's relatives came to our hospital with his young daughter for an appointment and, whilst in the building, decided to drop by and visit with TG. Fair enough. Well, he's apparently a talker. The visit went on and on, while his little girl, set up at someone else's workspace, colored or did her homework (or maybe both, because like I said: on and on). And it also came to pass that this gentleman, ahem, saw our little faux-MILF and, specifically, her ass, and felt the desire, indeed the need, to comment approvingly on it, and her, to TG. Who was properly exasperated, half-amused, and horrified, and hissed, "Stop that! That's my co-worker."
And I, a room over, but clearly able to hear all of this, thought, "Wow. This guy just won three gold medals in the Douchebag Olympics. He ought to be on a Douchebag Wheaties box." Because, c'mon now. Feeling the need to say something and not just think it? To another woman? Who happens to be a blood relative of yours? And--this is the best one--within earshot of your preteen daughter? Are you *kidding* me?
I do not think that even in [name of town redacted] this passes for polite and civilized behavior. But, you know, it fits right in with a world in which women are brainwashed into hating their breasts and thinking they are a sign of slutiness, and doing things that do not involve sex for money still qualifies one as a ho, and middle aged women cannot walk to the convenience store in a hoodie without being harassed. Yes, yes, indeed.
Drink the koolaid.
xoxo
7 comments:
Whoa, back up the bus here... Are you intentionally implying that sex for money is the only reasonable qualifier for ho-dom? That's gonna ruin a lot of my perfectly good fantasies. (Though I won't mention 'em out loud because I come from one of those "W" towns ;-)
If one can't even comment out loud on a woman's well formed rear end, the terrorists have won.
Or maybe that would be the man-hating radical women's libber lesbians.
Or the uptight anti-sex Protestant fundies.
Well, they're all pretty much the same thing, really.
(And to top it off, not only have the terrorist-lesbian-fundies won, now I have a fairly strong desire to actually see your favorite faux-MILF... from behind).
I hate you all.
You're welcome. ;-)
By the way, this afternoon as I was walking to the bank, I made note of the various modes of dress being sported by the various genders on the street. Two guys out of a hundred did not have on long pants, (which were all baggy by the way), and NONE of them had anything lower in the front than a crew neck T. In contrast, the women under age 60 (more on that in a sec) who weren't wearing something well above the knee were all tightly fitted about their hips and other nether regions. Their tops were running at least 50/50 on decolletage, and when it wasn't cleavage, it was tight enough to basically read the brand of brassiere through the fabric. Usually both.
I couldn't help but ask myself what was being communicated to me as a not-so-innocent bystander, and I couldn't help but notice that the older women were all dressed dramatically differently, in de facto (to me, at least) proof that the younger ones were absolutely dressing up to be noticed *physically*.
A person could argue all day whether or not the attention attracted to their physique ought or ought not to be sexual in nature, but it seems pretty disingenuous to me to blame skeevey men entirely for what goes on. (I said entirely, I'm not trying to exhonorate the pervs for their perversity).
So, why don't women dress as men tend to, without emphasizing their primary sexual characteristics, I wonder... And why as they age do they cease to dress as they used to prefer?
I can only conclude that the younger ones WANT me to notice that they've got hips and breasts, and so it's on me to make sure that the expressions of my attention are PC. (Again, I came originally from a "W" town, so maybe I was raise differently...)
Anywhere, here in my little townie town, the guilty parties aren't so clear-cut.
I could write a 5000 word paper on this but I've got interleague play to watch. So I'll just make one tiny little point.
If I were to wear clothes baggy enough that you couldn't/wouldn't notice that I've got breasts and hips, I would look a.)20 pounds fatter and b.)sloppy and probably c.) signifying something about either my sexuality or my lack of sexuality that would be false.
I don't dress skankily. I don't, except very rarely, purposely dress to attract male attention. I dress in a manner that makes me feel attractive, reasonably fashionable, reasonably not-fat, and reasonably put-together. (When I don't or can't do this [see: blog whining about wearing sweatpants and clogs and a down jacket almost exclusively for two months in that last winter from hell] I feel ugly and depressed.) If my dressing in this manner means you can ::shock:: ::horror:: see that I'm shaped like a woman, well, sorry, but it's not an invitation for strange men to make comments on my body, stare at me like I'm meat, or proposition me.
God. I'm missing important at-bats, I'm sure.
You know, I'm pretty sure it's just guys with a hoodie fetish.
Especially since--as we've already empirically shown--wearing a hoodie makes you look young enough to need your ID checked.
All you need to do is change your outerwear and all your unwanted male attention will disappear in a pouf of smoke.
I will give up my hoodies when you pry them off my cold dead shoulders. Or something like that. :-)
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