Monday, June 26, 2006
Short skirt, long jacket
Paint if you will a picture.
Today’s adventure begins with the Nut and I going out to the post office in 100+ weather. Did I mention the fact that it is muggy as all hell as well? So naturally, when the weather is like this, most people don’t want to be wearing a lot of clothing. Or long sleeves. Or jeans. Or anything to that extent. In fact, my outfit for the trip to the Post office to get stamps to mail items out was pretty simple: white cotton blouse and a skirt. A short skirt in fact, made of jean fabric. How short? Short.
Let me paint you the picture for my rant. I have parked with my 4-month-old son at the post office in a very small space. I am removing the camo diaper bag from the back seat in front of him when I feel something weird. Just that spider sense feeling that you are being watched or stalked somehow. I look up. I see nothing. I sling my diaper bag on my shoulder and reach in to pull out a fussing Nut. As I am reaching in I get that feeling again. I straighten up and look around. Nothing. I finally get Nut out of the car and look up in time to see a man about six feet tall with striking eyes and blond hair walking by with his little sister. I see him and he is looking at me… but not my face.
My rant: what is it about a girl wearing a short skirt that makes men drool and stare at their asses? And why is that if I chose to wear a short skirt it means so many different things to men that it doesn’t mean to women? For me, wearing the short skirt today had nothing to do with wanting to be leered at. It had everything to do with the fact that it was hot and I was looking for something to wear in this weather and feel cooler then I would. Should I be ashamed that I am dressed like the way that I am? Because I am wearing a shot skirt, is that implying that I am some sort of slut?
I digress…
He smiles as me as I walk by. Did he not notice Nut? What the hell?? I just nodded curtly and went into the air-conditioned post office to get my book of stamps that I badly needed. But no, it doesn’t end there…
I am standing in line, minding my own business when I get that creepy feeling again. I turn around and, lo and behold, guess who is behind me? Ass man himself! This time he smiles and says, “heeeelllllllooo there” in that cheesy player voice characters from cheesy 70s movies would say. This millenniums equivalent? “How YOU doing?”
I flash a smile and say, “Hey…” disinterestedly and turn back around.
“I’m mark. What’s your name?”
Huffy I turn around again; “Carol.” (Yes, total fake name. I never give my real name out.)
“Soo… Carol…(I roll my eyes at this point) lived here long? I just moved here and I was wondering what people do around here for fun.”
Does he not notice Nut sitting in his car seat at my feet? Is he that stupid/blind/desperate?
“Don’t know. Don’t get out much what with the baby and all.”
“I see.”
We move a few feet more in the line. I figured the baby comment would shut him up. Of course I am wrong.
“I just had to say, you look very nice in the skirt. VERY nice.”
Say it with me folks: Ewwwwwwwwww
I respond with the eyes rolled and a Phsew. Luckily it was my turn at the counter. There was a nice Asian woman working the counter. I scooted Nut forward and breathed a sigh of relief. But no, it’s not over. As creepy ass man was walking by he said, “Hey this is my myspace address. Check it out. I would love to spend time with you.”
Did I just get picked up by myspace?
So let me finish my rant with Eve Ensler:
Today’s adventure begins with the Nut and I going out to the post office in 100+ weather. Did I mention the fact that it is muggy as all hell as well? So naturally, when the weather is like this, most people don’t want to be wearing a lot of clothing. Or long sleeves. Or jeans. Or anything to that extent. In fact, my outfit for the trip to the Post office to get stamps to mail items out was pretty simple: white cotton blouse and a skirt. A short skirt in fact, made of jean fabric. How short? Short.
Let me paint you the picture for my rant. I have parked with my 4-month-old son at the post office in a very small space. I am removing the camo diaper bag from the back seat in front of him when I feel something weird. Just that spider sense feeling that you are being watched or stalked somehow. I look up. I see nothing. I sling my diaper bag on my shoulder and reach in to pull out a fussing Nut. As I am reaching in I get that feeling again. I straighten up and look around. Nothing. I finally get Nut out of the car and look up in time to see a man about six feet tall with striking eyes and blond hair walking by with his little sister. I see him and he is looking at me… but not my face.
My rant: what is it about a girl wearing a short skirt that makes men drool and stare at their asses? And why is that if I chose to wear a short skirt it means so many different things to men that it doesn’t mean to women? For me, wearing the short skirt today had nothing to do with wanting to be leered at. It had everything to do with the fact that it was hot and I was looking for something to wear in this weather and feel cooler then I would. Should I be ashamed that I am dressed like the way that I am? Because I am wearing a shot skirt, is that implying that I am some sort of slut?
I digress…
He smiles as me as I walk by. Did he not notice Nut? What the hell?? I just nodded curtly and went into the air-conditioned post office to get my book of stamps that I badly needed. But no, it doesn’t end there…
I am standing in line, minding my own business when I get that creepy feeling again. I turn around and, lo and behold, guess who is behind me? Ass man himself! This time he smiles and says, “heeeelllllllooo there” in that cheesy player voice characters from cheesy 70s movies would say. This millenniums equivalent? “How YOU doing?”
I flash a smile and say, “Hey…” disinterestedly and turn back around.
“I’m mark. What’s your name?”
Huffy I turn around again; “Carol.” (Yes, total fake name. I never give my real name out.)
“Soo… Carol…(I roll my eyes at this point) lived here long? I just moved here and I was wondering what people do around here for fun.”
Does he not notice Nut sitting in his car seat at my feet? Is he that stupid/blind/desperate?
“Don’t know. Don’t get out much what with the baby and all.”
“I see.”
We move a few feet more in the line. I figured the baby comment would shut him up. Of course I am wrong.
“I just had to say, you look very nice in the skirt. VERY nice.”
Say it with me folks: Ewwwwwwwwww
I respond with the eyes rolled and a Phsew. Luckily it was my turn at the counter. There was a nice Asian woman working the counter. I scooted Nut forward and breathed a sigh of relief. But no, it’s not over. As creepy ass man was walking by he said, “Hey this is my myspace address. Check it out. I would love to spend time with you.”
Did I just get picked up by myspace?
So let me finish my rant with Eve Ensler:
It is not an invitation
a provocation
an indication
that I want it
or give it
or that I hook.
My short skirt
is not begging for it
it does not want you
to rip it off me
or pull it down.
My short skirt
is not a legal reason
for raping me
although it has been before
it will not hold up
in the new court.
My short skirt, believe it or not
has nothing to do with you.
My short skirt
is about discovering
the power of my lower calves
about cool autumn air traveling
up my inner thighs
about allowing everything I see
or pass or feel to live inside.
My short skirt is not proof
that I am stupid
or undecided
or a malleable little girl.
My short skirt is my defiance
I will not let you make me afraid
My short skirt is not showing off
this is who I am
before you made me cover it
or tone it down.
Get used to it.
My short skirt is happiness
I can feel myself on the ground.
I am here. I am hot.
My short skirt is a liberation
flag in the women's army
I declare these streets, any streets
my vagina's country.
My short skirt
is turquoise water
with swimming colored fish
a summer festival
in the starry dark
a bird calling
a train arriving in a foreign town
my short skirt is a wild spin
a full breath
a tango dip
my short skirt is
initiation
appreciation
excitation.
But mainly my short skirt
and everything under it
is Mine.
Mine.
Mine.
posted by Nut's mom at 3:00 PM
about
Me and Nut the toddler. enough said.
Obsess? Me?
Crushed spirit
Fight or flight?
"who does number 2 work for??"
Mother F*cking bomb
saying versus meaning
Here comes the story of a Hurricane
Humanity
The gates of hell
late night pondering
6-6-06
Once upon a time
January 2006
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May 2006
June 2006
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September 2006
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May 2008
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