I wasn’t even doing anything. I was just standing there, being normal.
I was at my favorite little speak easy, Mocha Lounge, just standing at the bar talking to Victor, the very handsome and engaging bartender. I always do that when I go to Mocha Lounge. I wasn’t dressed provocatively. I had on a T-shirt, jeans and some sneakers. I mean, my hair was looking rather full and fabulous thanks to a recent braid out set, but nothing more.
But despite my blah/average/regular state of being, this jerk-face of a man had the nerve to speak to me, for the very first time ever in the history of his or my life, about my ass. He didn’t know me from Adam, a can of paint or even Adam’s can of paint, but thought it was perfectly OK to ogle my hindparts and refer to my ass as “that”. I was thoroughly offended and disgusted.
But you know what, to be treated like that by an unfamiliar man shrinks the hell out of me. It makes me feel insecure, vulnerable and threatened. I couldn’t move from where I was. I stood there as he continued to attempt to chat me up, like he hadn’t just been ridiculously rude to me. I was
afraid. I was afraid to stand up for myself. I didn’t know this dude from anywhere and I had no idea how he would come at me if I told him just how I felt about his offensive behavior. Would he cuss me out? Would he throw his beer on me? Would he slap me across my sassy face? He had already demonstrated that he didn’t give a damn about propriety or decorum. I was no longer brave in the face of this stranger and his ignorance. I was tiny and f*cking humiliated.
Fellas, this is how women feel when you so freely objectify us. It feels horrible to be dissected like that, especially by a stranger. I am more than the sum of my appendages and orifices. It’s not a compliment when you never give eye contact or smile and talk about our body as if it is a collection of things separate from ourselves. Please, don’t do this to anybody. Please don’t do it to me.
~pbg
