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It's coming
Feb. 21st, 2002 02:58 pmToday in New York it's sunny and 60 degrees outside. It feels like spring is on its way, even though I know that winter is far from over. People are smiling, walking with their children, removing coats and enjoying the warm sunshine on their skin. Had I realized it was going to be so lovely, I would have worn a dress and sandals.
I was just outside running an errand for work, and a small knot in the pit of my stomach took my momentum away for a moment. I realized that summer will come back eventually. The absolute dread that this warmer weather evoked in me took me totally off-guard.
Warm weather means I'll stop wearing my thick winter coats and sweaters. Which means I'll wear lighter clothing so I won't sweat to death.
Which means that the harrassment will start up again. Which means I'll have to be ready for the lethal anger unleashed in me every day when men ogle or verbally harrass me on the streets of this city.
Not that it ever stopped. Although winter does have a way of keeping people quiet inside their own bodies, there are always some people that say "hey baby, you're so pretty why don't you smile?" or (this is verbatim-- ask Chris) "you are the bomb!--I bet you can hold more nuts than a chipmunk" no matter what the weather. But the spring and summer months are the busiest.
I'm ready to shout back and try to talk to the harrassers, to make them realize that any woman that they love in their life probably gets the same horrible treatment every day that they dish out. To trigger any kind of respect they may have for another human being. Sometimes it works, and I have a good conversation with a complete stranger who's willing to change.
Most of the time, however, I'm called a bitch, or a prude, or the harrasser pretends that his unsolicited words are a compliment to my beauty. I'm not ready for that kind of human interaction. It's exhausting to keep sharp comebacks on the tip of your tongue and to maintain a steel wall around yourself every time you step outside your home. I wish I was exaggerating. I wish I was being melodramatic.
Please, winter, give me a few more good months of peace.
I was just outside running an errand for work, and a small knot in the pit of my stomach took my momentum away for a moment. I realized that summer will come back eventually. The absolute dread that this warmer weather evoked in me took me totally off-guard.
Warm weather means I'll stop wearing my thick winter coats and sweaters. Which means I'll wear lighter clothing so I won't sweat to death.
Which means that the harrassment will start up again. Which means I'll have to be ready for the lethal anger unleashed in me every day when men ogle or verbally harrass me on the streets of this city.
Not that it ever stopped. Although winter does have a way of keeping people quiet inside their own bodies, there are always some people that say "hey baby, you're so pretty why don't you smile?" or (this is verbatim-- ask Chris) "you are the bomb!--I bet you can hold more nuts than a chipmunk" no matter what the weather. But the spring and summer months are the busiest.
I'm ready to shout back and try to talk to the harrassers, to make them realize that any woman that they love in their life probably gets the same horrible treatment every day that they dish out. To trigger any kind of respect they may have for another human being. Sometimes it works, and I have a good conversation with a complete stranger who's willing to change.
Most of the time, however, I'm called a bitch, or a prude, or the harrasser pretends that his unsolicited words are a compliment to my beauty. I'm not ready for that kind of human interaction. It's exhausting to keep sharp comebacks on the tip of your tongue and to maintain a steel wall around yourself every time you step outside your home. I wish I was exaggerating. I wish I was being melodramatic.
Please, winter, give me a few more good months of peace.
