I have no idea why she did it, but my mother bought me a blue T-shirt with white lettering that said, “Looking is free, touching costs.” I think it was her naïvete to be honest because I was only 12. Twelve Mom, hello? I suppose she thought it was cute however you can see here why that might go terribly wrong.
To be honest, growing up I was used to cat calls. I think it was pretty much the norm for guys to comment aloud, at least it was while growing up in Michigan.
I recall walking into the drug store with my bestie at the corner of our little country street and hearing, “I’ll take the blonde and you can have the brunette.” My friend and I were used to it, albeit annoyed. You learn pretty early on to be passive aggressive about it all: looking at them cross-eyed, making faces at them, once we resorted to pretending we were lesbians. Right, like that would work.
If we were washing the car, we would get hoots and hollers from the road. If we were walking into a store we would hear, “Hey….foxy, baby, or whatever the term du jour was.” We got whistles in the mall, we got groped at the bar. Poor guy didn’t know what was coming when he slid his thumb up my leg as I sat on the bar stool in a hot pink miniskirt. I slugged him. And hard. I was a steak runner at Ponderosa Steak House and had arms like King Kong from lifting trays of those heavy metal plates every day.
I guessed that as I got older, the less cat calls meant I was simply not attractive any longer. Partly that is true, I have indeed aged, plus I had two toddlers I was chasing and I was just plain grouchy as hell. I noticed after several years after my move to Texas that the calls stopped. That is until I got on Facebook and hooked up with my old Michigan gang several years ago. As it were, I believe that Michigander men are just plain horn dogs because I get the, “Damn, you’re hot, even for 40 something.” comment all the time.
Do I think I’m hot? Oh hells no. My mind is perhaps but I cannot compete with 20 or 30 year olds, that is for certain. Nor do I care to. I hated the insecure, clingy woman I was and I certainly don’t have anything intellectually in common with a 20 year old. That’s not to say I cannot get along with the younger crowd as I have always had a knack for that sort of thing, but let’s just say I can’t see anything interesting in say, a 26 year old ripped dude with a goatee. Sure, he may have a nice physique, but I find a man with a bit of road map, some grey, maybe even some love handles and a goatee to be much sexier. There is something so comforting about a man that has lived and loved hard but is still tender and attentive.
I was walking into the grocery store with my young cousin back in the late 70s during our annual summer at grandma’s house and that blue T-shirt with the white lettering offering for someone to do God knows what to me brought me an offer of some money. I learned fairly early not to ask for anything I didn't truly want. Suffice to say, that was the last time I wore it.