A Message to Catcallers

There hasn't been a single day when I've walked home this week and haven't been catcalled at least once. For the first two days it was funny. By the third and fourth, it became expected.

Wait, expected? In what world is it okay to expect to be sexually harassed?

Yes, catcallers. Sexual harassment. You're not being funny. You certainly aren't being charming. There is nothing innocent about it.

What goes through the heads of these men? I don't mean "I'm too good for them, so what are they thinking?" because, honestly, the guys in my age range are usually attractive. Until they open their mouths.

I'd like to give them the benefit of the doubt. I'd like to think that the thought process is something like, "My, that is a rather attractive young lady. I have taken an immediate fancy to her, and would like to get her attention. I'm going to approach her casually and strike up conversation." But, because of some brain malfunction that's attributed only to the Y chromosome, they accidentally say something like, "Yo, sexy! How you doin'?"

I figure it's one of two options: A. They legitimately think that calling to a girl like she's a dog will get them action or B. They like seeing young girls walking alone down the street look uncomfortable, because they think it's funny.

There are so many things wrong with option B, so many ways that it contributes to the sexist attitudes of our current society, that I don't even know where to start.

So don't call me "Red." Definitely don't call me "white girl." Let me walk the three minutes from the subway to my apartment in peace.

If, on the other hand, you're actually an incredibly insecure boy who just doesn't know how to handle a situation, here's a tip. Walk up. Say "hello." Ask my name. It's not rocket science.