On my way to work, I pass some important government building or other (along with all of
I walked through knowing that a group of self-congratulatory guys may very well feel like they are owed attention from anyone who walks by—and I had to weave my way through them.* As the unsubtle once-overs and glances turned to whistles and comments, I whirled around, whipped off my sunglasses, and glared at the lot of them.
“Are you kidding me? This is how you want to present yourselves on this Hooray Firefighters Day or whatever? And in front of your supportive wives? And in front of the important government building that probably mails out your paychecks? If my house is on fire, please pay attention to THAT, and not to the bra hanging on the doorknob, ‘kay?”
And I strode off, slinging one of them with my purse with one arm, and putting my glasses back on with the other.
*Everything from this point on is pure fabrication. It’s what I imagined might happen, and how I would respond if it did. (Thank God it didn’t, though, because it would slow me down, and I was late.) I apologize for my dim view of this group of firemen, who not only save lives, but are very classy and only subtly check out other women when they are out with their wives.