Fun & Famous

THE HELL CALLED SNOOPING

The record I achieved this morning? Running into the most annoying guests in as few metres as possible. I was walking from the metro to Amayzine (about ten minutes) and so seriously three different guests are yelling at me. Three. ‘Psssssst’, ‘Hey girl, where are you going?’ ‘Don't look so angry huh?’.

No I am not angry. Although your comments do piss me off (read this again if you understand the misery of a ‘resting bitch face’ by the way). I just find it irritating, sometimes even gross. Let me walk around, don't bother me. Don't talk to me like I'm a walking, wet genitalia. Stop the ‘catcalling’ (there's even a name for it). What is actually the fun of ogling women like a bunch of runaway horny hyenas? Or is it not about the sexual innuendo? Is it attention? Is it territory marking, what ís it? Why don't I ever hear: ‘What amazing shoes you have on today!’. Look, that would make me seriously happy. But no, that's no fun, guys. Then the fun is gone.

I arrive at the office with a slightly offended head. Simone looks at me with a questioning look after which I spew my bile about the moronic brains of the opposite sex. Yes, of sómmige men then. She nods. “It happens at least five times a week,” she says. And I get that on an average week too (though I'm already ahead of schedule, ha). Twenty times in the month. Two hundred and forty times in the year. In the last ten years, we have been called on the street by a stranger almost two and a halfDUIZEND times on average. I think it's intense. And then you might think oh oh child, don't be so prudish. But let's turn the tables, shall we? See how you feel then.