High-five, Stranger!

Around lunch time today, my coworker and I went on short walk to the library and to Planet Sub. We were exchanging small talk and enjoying the 70 degree weather (what winter?). As we were crossing the street, I noticed a man ahead of us ranting to anyone who would listen. I wasn’t sure what he was talking about, and I was OK with keeping to myself. I kept my gaze down.

“She wears a short *ss skirt, and then gets all p*ssed when you try to talk to her,” he said angrily as we walked by. As we passed him, he started directing his rant toward us. “D*mn women. Y’all wear these tiny skirts and low-cut shirts showing off everything and then you act like you’re too good to talk.”

Then he started walking alongside me and my coworker.

“You women showing off your *ss like it’s everyone’s business and then shut a man down,” he said directly to us. “Why do y’all do that? Well, not y’all (motioning to us), but you know the sh*t I’m talking about. Pardon my language. You know what I mean, don’t you?”

He looked at me, waiting for an answer. I was having the internal debate of whether to answer him because it was the human thing to do, or to ignore him because who knows what answering him might lead to.

“I do know,” I said. “Misrepresentation.”

“Yeah! That’s what I’m saying,” he agreed with excitement. “Don’t wear something that says one thing and then act the opposite. Women should dress more like you.” He motioned to our outfits, the standard office uniform of black slacks and blouses. “You women are classy. High five to keeping it classy!” He reached out and gave us both a high-five. Then he laughed and went on his way.

High-five to keeping it classy.

 

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5 thoughts on “High-five, Stranger!

  1. Um…AUGH! And also, had that been me, it might’ve been pretty hard to not imagine that that dude was my father in law, and turning the full wrath of my small percentage of feminist knowledge on his ass.

    Maybe we’re wearing those short *ss skirts and low cut shirts for a CHICK…wonder if he ever thought about that? Maybe we’re wearing them because we’re going to a dress up party for tarts and vicars. Maybe we’re wearing them because it’s freaking laundry day, and that’s all that was clean.

    It’s none of his damned business, is my point. Dude needs some xanax, maybe.

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