CAT CALLING, TAKE 1

So the guy who runs the grill in the cafeteria totally loves me now. Stare a man down and he's yours, apparently. [Note to self - stare more.] It's gotten to the point where I don't want his love, though. I didn't ask for it, and yet, now I'm getting it good.

Today he ran over from the grill to serve me at the pasta station. He gave me three extra over-sized raviolis. He looked at my legs. He asked me my name. He is trying to woo me with excessive carbohydrates. He is so my bitch.

Ah, sweet bathos!

It's that time of year, though, when dirty old men start eyeing my big, long legs. I wear the short skirts, and they come calling. This is not something I'm crowing about. I don't need dirty old men in my life. I need clean young men. Actually I don't need any men right now, but if I were to need any, I'd prefer them to be of the clean and young variety.

Last week a gross old man complimented me on my sunglasses as I walked through midtown Manhattan.

"Those are crazy sunglasses you got there."

I turned and looked down. He was about twenty years older than I am, bald, and maybe four inches shorter. He was wearing a lime green t-shirt. He smiled at me.

"Hey, I'm older than you are, and you're taller than I am. It could work."

I kept walking. The man had clearly used the line a million times before. There was nothing I could say back to him that would be new or exciting. I would disappoint him. I could just tell.

Today as I walked home, I heard a man calling behind me.

"Lady, don't take this the wrong way, but you have a beautiful pair of legs."

I turned and saw a man in his forties dressed in a chef's outfit, presumably walking to work.

"Thanks," I said, and kept walking.

"You must either work out or do a lot of walking."

"Ah, I just live in New York," I said. "That's enough."

"Well you need to call up your momma and daddy and say thanks to them, 'cause you got some beautiful legs."

And then he crossed the street. Actually, it wasn't too painful. As long as they cross the street, it's never too painful.

Anyway, I've written about catcalls and such countless times, so it seems a little repetitive at this point. I thought I should just get it out of my system for the season, and then find some other things to bitch about. At least I know I've got one more year I can get away with wearing short skirts without offending the unwashed masses. These gams are apparently still gold.

Viva thick thighs!

-by Jami Attenberg of whatever-whenever.net, NYC

[Originally published on whatever-whenever.net.]