is it me

Good Sunday to you, readers!

Today I borrow a blog convention from my good friend Heather. She is one-third of my Artist’s Way trifecta (we are in week 4! one-third on our way to being creative/spiritually fulfilled!), and her blog posts often begin with this title. (Just a shameless ploy to coax her back into blogging…join me in this cause…)

I ask the question, “is it me?” today because I am not certain whether I am justified in a favorite complaint of mine. Come with me if you will…
Today is the first tank top + shorts running day of the spring! Callooh Callay! Sunshine and the smell of grass and legitimate, hard-earned sweatiness! ‘Tis a glorious thing.

(Callooh Callay explained, for those of you who aren’t schooled in Alice in Wonderland. My fav Disney movie, if anyone was curious…and curiouser…)

BUT today’s cloud behind the silver lining was the five (count ’em) FIVE honks from five separate cars in the 30-or-so minutes I was out running on Kearney Street. Daaaamn, Northsiders! That’s some unprecedented dickishness, even for y’all.

I mean, I suppose it’s sweet of these fellows to take notice of me and express their feelings for all to hear. But I do dare them, honestly, to man-up enough to pull over and actually talk to me. Go ahead, put that passerby savoir-faire into practice! I would welcome it. I’m sure I could love a guy in a CRX, with a GED and STDs, on his way to KFC. (Not that I could blame him for that choice. The ol’ Colonel has some tricks up his sleeve. Homeboy turned “chicken” into BREAD, you guys!)

It BUGS me. It bugs me more than it should. I’ve ranted about it more than once on the blog…and I always conclude that there’s nothing I can do about it…men will be men…some guys are douchey whether I like it or not…bla bla bla…don’t let it bother you. It doesn’t matter.

Sure, it’s only a honk or cat call from a stranger. Harmless, right? I’m not so sure. I think respect is a thing that matters in the small moments just as much as the big. And if you can’t respect a stranger as you pass her on the street, how much will you respect a woman who chooses (god & logic forbid) to allow you into her personal space?

It irks me. Consider me irked. Call me Irk-le.
(Did I do that…?)