Posts Written by

Walking down the street is not one of my rights. Who knew?

Last week, in celebration of the 90th anniversary of my voting rights, I baked a fabulous chocolate cake.  On Saturday, a kind gentleman reminded me that I’m still second-class.  When I responded angrily to his catcall, he condescended to explain just what rights I do have.  “Like you got the right, sweetheart, dressed like that.”

Like what?  A person?  In a tank top and jeans because it’s comfortable.

So I screamed at the top of my lungs, “Suck your own cock, motherfucker!”

And he’s probably laughing about it right now with his cronies, who are wondering, “Why’d she get so angry?”

You see, I get catcalls all the time.  I get hit on whenever I take the bus.  It even happened the next day when I was walking to the grocery store—the telltale once over and “Hiya, honey, how’s it going?”  Well, it’s not going anywhere with you sir, saying as you’re about thirty years older than me, sweating like a pig and smoking.

Loading Posts
Load More