I took the bus to campus today to pick up a library book and my cap and gown. (Huzzah!)
When I took my seat, I felt someone touch my hair and turned to scowl at the person. I hoped that said person was a woman who was holding on to the back of the seat for safety purposes. But alas, it was a man who said something, thereby forcing me to turn off my tiny digital boom box. He told me that he thought I was beautiful and what did I do? I should have scowled or told him to never touch a strange woman’s hair again. But because I was a bit frightened that he’d follow me off the bus, I just said “thanks” and put my headphones back on, stared straight ahead, and hoped for the best.
The thing that peeves me about incidents like these is that a bizarre combination of fear and flattery always drives my responses. Never anger, which I think is the most appropriately feminist way to deal with them. And now that it’s spring, all the horny joes start blooming like crocuses.
