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It is a miracle of a first day of spring in Boston, and I'm wearing a short skirt. The world is stretching and coming awake; on my lunchtime walk the ground in the Public Garden gives beneath my boots, and willow bark sings under my hand.
And of course, everyone's looking up and feeling frisky.
On a ten minute walk, I must have received three honked horns, four direct and mildly offensive addresses, and who-knows how many stares. "Nice legs," said one. "I like your skirt," put in another. Does this ever actually work for people, I wonder? I mean, do they pick people up this way? I wonder to myself, also, why I find a stare (not a bold or lecherous stare, just a kind of "stopped" one) flattering, but a remark degrading.
Just when my light mood was about to change, a man came up beside me at the intersection of Boylston and Arlington Streets, waiting to cross. He's clearly homeless, with a ratty jacket and cap, long white hair and unkempt beard. He carries an empty, dirty coffee cup. He looks at me and says, somehow completely non-sexually, "If nobody's told you today, I will: you're beautiful." He smiles, without threat or malice.
I actually said, "Thank you."
"Happy spring!" he exclaimed, turning and seeming to indicate all that meant "spring" that he could find in the span of his arms. "FINally!"
"Damn right," I said, and the light changed.
"How about that," he said with some wonder. "That taxi actually didn't run the red light."
I started to cross, smiling. He wandered into traffic holding his cup, saying, to nobody I could see, "It happens that I've just run out of excuses..."
And of course, everyone's looking up and feeling frisky.
On a ten minute walk, I must have received three honked horns, four direct and mildly offensive addresses, and who-knows how many stares. "Nice legs," said one. "I like your skirt," put in another. Does this ever actually work for people, I wonder? I mean, do they pick people up this way? I wonder to myself, also, why I find a stare (not a bold or lecherous stare, just a kind of "stopped" one) flattering, but a remark degrading.
Just when my light mood was about to change, a man came up beside me at the intersection of Boylston and Arlington Streets, waiting to cross. He's clearly homeless, with a ratty jacket and cap, long white hair and unkempt beard. He carries an empty, dirty coffee cup. He looks at me and says, somehow completely non-sexually, "If nobody's told you today, I will: you're beautiful." He smiles, without threat or malice.
I actually said, "Thank you."
"Happy spring!" he exclaimed, turning and seeming to indicate all that meant "spring" that he could find in the span of his arms. "FINally!"
"Damn right," I said, and the light changed.
"How about that," he said with some wonder. "That taxi actually didn't run the red light."
I started to cross, smiling. He wandered into traffic holding his cup, saying, to nobody I could see, "It happens that I've just run out of excuses..."
