I live in an area where sometimes it’s quicker to walk 1/2 a mile than it is to drive it (seriously… Philly ‘burbs traffic is stupid and so is everyone driving in it).  For that reason, and because I am a cheap bastard (gas is expensive, yo!), I often choose to walk to work or to Wawa or sometimes just for the hell of it to get out of my apartment.  I am usually dressed in a tshirt, some form of pants, and sneakers, those being the most comfortable walking clothes.  I mention this to highlight the fact that I am not walking around in broad daylight dressed like a stripper (that’s only at night, duh).  However, I am constantly subjected to the most annoying goddamn reactions from men.

The holler out the car window.

Seriously.  Guys.  Why?

Now, some of you may say, “Wow, it must be tough being a hot girl and getting attention.”  Now, I’m not like, supermodel hot or anything, but I have a decent body and good hair.  And it’s nice to get affirmation every once and a while… BUT SOMETIMES I JUST WANT TO WALK IN PEACE, without being holla-ed at or whistled to or honked in the direction of (which, more often than not, only serves to scare the bejesus out of me).  Most of the time, I also am sweaty, unshowered, and basically look like shit, which is apparently really attractive to men who happen to be piloting an automobile.  This also makes me question why I take any time at all to get ready to go out.  Of course I like attention (what girl doesn’t?), but can’t we save it for the bar or a party or concert when it’s more, I don’t know, expected?  Why must it be when I’m trying to mind my own business and simply locomote somewhere? 

And no, no I will not give you my number.  No matter how many times you circle the block.  Ugh.

I just don’t get it… I mean, I seldom get hit on when I’m out, which makes me think that I should constantly cross paths with men going at least 15mph because I must look good blurry.  And since I can’t really beat these drive-by letharios (you clearly outnumber those who focus solely on the road), I’ve decided to join them.  Now, when I drive past them, no landscaper or construction worker is safe, nor is the businessman on the way home from the train.  No, no, now you will be subjected to crass hooting from the passenger’s side window of my little Acura, as I check out your ass and then tell you what I think about it.  Tag, you’re it.