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Sharing is Caring: I Got Cat-Called on Campus

I work on a college campus while solidly out of the 18-25 range, and am not particularly boob-a-rific. I do not enjoy (and therefore rarely participate in) cardiovascular exercise, and have been told I project a powerful, "DO NOT FUCK WITH ME," vibe unless I'm smiling.

As a rule, I do not get cat-called.

I read your stories with interest, and am supportive of a woman's right to walk from point A to point B without it turning into a parade. But in these issues I am, generally, an ally rather than a victim. I'm not the kind of gal for whom bros holla.(I'm ok with that, thanks!)


Imagine my surprise when, this morning, I was walking from the campus building where I work to the campus building where things get photocopied, and some asshole starts whooping and whistling and yelling, "HEY, GOOD LOOKING."

Of course, I turned around and the jackass hanging out the passenger side (of his best friend's ride) was ... my husband and his boss. (Seriously, though, those two are like Bill and Ted, and their life is the Excellent Adventure.) ((Second seriously, though: Why is this the best Scrubs gif I can find for this?))


As they laughed, my husband continued to make rude noises while trying to get himself back inside the vehicle. I think his button got caught on the window.

Meanwhile, a budding young feminist who happened to be on the sidewalk THREW AN ENTIRE SODA at the side of the van and shouted at my husband that he was a misogynistic fuck and she hoped he died in a fire.

Thanks for defending my honor, random stranger. Kansas, there's hope for you yet.


Addendum: FluterDude is fine. Sticky and embarrassed, but fine.

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