In an effort to save money and maintain my car, I’ve started to take the bus. Most of the problems occur when I get off the bus and trek back to my walk-up apartment. Yesterday as I walked towards home, a guy in a small red civic waved at me as he drove by. Of course, I debated whether or not to swoon right there or flash the guy*, but the conservative voice and rape prevention education told me to keep walking. So I did. When I was halfway to my building, I looked back to see the guy driving slowly in my direction. Noticing me, he sped up but still eyed me as he drove past. I reached the gates to my apartment complex when I saw him *again*, head slumped forward, eyes in a hard squint. He gave up and disappeared. I didn’t get a license plate number or any other details….
This makes me think of my mother for some reason. I tended to fall asleep on the living room couch which prompted my mother to believe that I would be raped. Yes, raped because I was on the couch. God forbid this would happen, but I always thought if a rape would occur, wouldn’t it be in my bedroom? There’s a bed, after all. I had a TV, too! Rape is not funny, but what was funny was my mother’s protective methods. It was funny to wake up and find my 5’0″ mother dragging me by the feet so I could sleep in my Fort Knox bedroom.
My professor stared at my blouse several times in class. Should I be worried? Should I start wearing saran-wrap tops? My got-it-flaunt-it theology suggests pasties. As Paris says, “That’s hot.”