i am not a kitty

so the other day prep and i were walking down an alleyway. it was bright outside and we were traveling in a pair, so i felt pretty safe. we walk past this guy fixing his car and he looks up and sees us. he calls out, hey ladies how ya doing? i'm a bit startled, as i always am when i get a catcall, so i mutter out, fine. we pick up our speed, walk a little faster. then he meows at us. yes, i am serious. this grown man fucking meowed at us.

now, this story is pretty funny. every now and then prep will meow at me and we'll burst out laughing. but i can't think of this story without thinking of another one:
i was younger, fourteen with skinny spider legs. it was one of the first warm days in a long time. spring was coming, and i was out of school early that day, and was content to just sit on a park bench and sip my drink and read my book. just minding my own business. trying to ignore the shifty looking guy who kept looking at my little kid legs and my new pink miniskirt that i had loved so much on first sight. a strong breeze pulled the skirt back, and i hastily covered up my exposed thighs, my pale moon skin. and this man with his eyes all over me, this man who could have been my father's age, said, "nice thighs, baby". i was fourteen, so much more fragile than i am today. and his words crawled inside me like a cancer. i felt shame. i threw away my drink. i walked away from the bench. i went home. i never wore that skirt again.

why did i feel ashamed that day? that was not my shame to bear. an older creeper made a sexual, completely inappropriate comment to a young girl. it is obvious that he was in the wrong. but that shame, it stuck with me. i still feel it in my gut whenever i come up against a street harraser, an animalistic reaction that seems almost out of my control. by the time it passes, the harasser is long gone and i'm left stewing, with a thousand responses in my brain, all the comebacks i will never say. the logical: i could be your sister. i don't deserve to be talked to that way. the emotional: fuck you. get away from me. but nothing comes out. all silence. and that? pisses me off. to be intimidated into silence for no reason other than i'm a girl. just a girl trying to make her way from point a to b.

i realize that street harassment isn't as monumental a problem as racial genocide or forced sterilization. but you know what? women have enough bullshit to deal with in their lives. why should we have to put up with this? these men who think our bodies are pieces of meat that they can look at and comment on and touch and have for their very own. so we don't let them intimidate us. we do not give them the power to silence us. we don't let them get away with this shit. and here's how: holla back. it's a project that originated in new york city and has now spread to many major cities. women snap pictures of their harassers and post pictures on the holla back blog (the original is at http://hollabacknyc.blogspot.com/). awesome. check out the site, laugh at the silly pervs and their stunning lack of originality (with the exception of meow man), and next time some idiot on the street tells you that your dress would look so much better on the floor of his bedroom, don't let it ruin your day. snap a picture of the idiot and post it up.

oh, and to the truck driver who called me a puta the other day? fuck you.