The nice thing about living in New York City is that, no matter what you look like, every single woman will get catcalled at least once. You could be wearing sweats and shoveling an empanada into your face. You could be toting around your five kids and ten grandkids. You could be heinously unattractive. It doesn’t matter. If you are a woman in New York City, you will get hooted at, hollered at, and hit on. Even that girl in the photo below will get catcalled in NYC. The creepy men of New York are wonderfully indiscriminate.
And no matter how much we disdain such boorish behavior, secretly, it’s rather flattering. Every woman likes to get complimented, even if the source is a lazy-eyed homeless man with a pet rat and a neck tattoo. We can rail all we want against the superficiality of the world, but there’s a glimmer of satisfaction when we’re the momentary center of some crazy man’s attention. It’s that same esteem-boosting feeling you might get if you were asked to pose for Playboy.
Playboy Executive: “Hey, we want you to pose nude in Playboy for our ‘Professional Women of New York’ special.”
You: “Excuse me? I am insulted!” [Translation: "Hell yeah! Still got it!"]
Playboy Executive: “Why not? Don’t you know our clientele? This is a great opportunity for you to get your next job in hedge funds, private equity, or Congressional politics.”
You: “I can’t believe you have the gall to say that to me. Unlike those skanks who pose for Playboy, I actually have some dignity and self-respect. I don’t need to pose nude to rise up the corporate ladder.” [Translation: "I would look good in Playboy. Oh yeah! Your balance sheet can't handle my assets... ass-ets."]
Playboy Executive: “Come on. It’s not like we’re Penthouse.”
You: “You disgust me. Your entire existence is demeaning to women, and the bimbos you select as your centerfolds are putting feminism to shame. I don’t know how you can sleep at night. I just pray, pray, that one day you’ll have a daughter, and you will have to explain to her what you do for a living. And if you have any semblance of a soul, you will feel the deepest and darkest shame in knowing that her future has been tainted by your pathetic, tasteless publication. You want me to pose nude? I’ll pose nude the day that you tell your daughter that you exploit women, you sick bastard.” [Translation: "I love being able to riff on this guy. Not only do I feel super hot, but I feel so righteous as well! R-E-S-P-E-C-T."]
Playboy Executive: “Well… let me know if you ever change your mind.”
You: “Not in a million years, buster.” [Translation: "Unless I'm still single when I'm 35..."]
[A few minutes later]
Your Facebook Status: “Just got asked to pose nude in Playboy. Haha! I said no, of course!”
Your Twitter: “Playboy wanted me to pose nude, lol. How gross! I said no… Woman power!”
Your BBM Away Message: “Crazy day! Was asked to pose nude for Playboy. They are such scumbags!”
…And so on.
Isn’t superficiality great, especially when it goes your way? Even women without daddy issues want attention now and then.
So, the next time I am fortunate enough to be hooted at in New York, I will politely thank the greasy creep who complimented me. Then, I’ll return the favor: I’m sure every guy wants to feel good about his cardboard home or his delivery bike. And then he can log onto Twitter and let all his friends know that he’s still got it too.
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