Today around noon time, as I walked down Mass. Ave on my way to a work-related meeting in Boston, I got a flirty horn-honk followed by coy waves from two 40ish blue-collar men in a beat-up Ford F150. It was the first bit of street harassment I’ve experienced in a long time, and it was a veritable boon to my femininity. I was externally impassive, but internally preening.
Oh, when I was in my 20s, I loathed lewd remarks, ogling eyes, and catcalls. They made me feel vulnerable, objectified, and powerless. I just wanted it to stop. And then one day, soon after I turned 30… it did.
But who can resist giving appreciative accolades to a blond in a clingy beige sweater and black sunglasses, sauntering down the street on a perfect spring day? Besides, this is the Age of the Cougar. Thanks for the attention, gents. Now get bent.
