Take a Walk on the Wild Side

Having now read a dozen blogs about the horrors of being a woman walking in the rape culture, (hashtag#YESALLMENBAD) and watching the most pathetic celebration of oppression Olympics ever, I’m compelled to respond. One flat out got my goat, leaving me partially furious because of the deception she presents and partially empathetic because of the self-delusion she now seems trapped in.

“Blogging Girl”, who is precisely the same height and weight as I am, goes walking everywhere in a noble attempt to fight off poundage and encounters no less than 50 men (#YESALLMENBAD) who call her fat and declare her sea-worthy, (or c-worthy, if you get my drift.) Poor girl walks a gauntlet of horrific verbal abuse every day, just trying to exercise. Except she doesn’t, not really. I have watched a
naked man with a machete manage to attract a crowd of nearly 20, half of whom were law enforcement officers. Stark naked as a jay bird! See, most of us don’t care. We flat out don’t care. We have things to do, places to go, and if you’re passed out drunk on the sidewalk, we’ll simply step over you. It’s called the fallen log in the forest phenomenon, not one of our better qualities, but humans can only take in so much information before our brains render people invisible.

There is no way in hades you managed to attract the attention of 50 men who dropped everything they were doing to stop and inform you were fat, stupid, ugly, and shouldn’t be out walking.(#YESALLMENBAD) I ain’t buying it. I don’t mean to sound cruel, but you just are not the center of that many people’s universe. Well over two hundred people have now validated your victimhood, affirmed your feelings of persecution, confirmed your perception of a cold and sexist world. Now that is kind of cruel.

Come on girl, take a walk on the wild side with me and embrace the misogyny.

I walk through the world like Snow White trilling to the forest creatures, seriously. Schizophrenic guy stops talking to himself for a moment and tips his hat  when I pass. There’s a veteran on the corner with no legs who always looks up, smiles at me, and says thank you, and I’ve never put a dime in his hat. There’s a group of young black guys that hang out in front of a coffee shop, but they’re so busy trying to keep their pants up and walk with their shoes untied, they pay no attention to me. 

I haven’t opened a door for myself in decades, except when I’m out with hubby. It’s a bit amusing, but that man loves to drop a door on me now and than. I roll my eyes, but in truth it always makes me smile. I know exactly what he’s doing. Men have been opening doors for me for so long if one wasn’t around I’d probably stand there and look stupid trying to figure out why the door won’t open.

A few weeks ago I had a brake light out. No less than six men stopped to make sure I knew about it. Two more left a note on my car. Perfect strangers, trying to protect me from a ticket. It actually started to get embarrassing, so I fixed the light.

Retired Navy guy likes to jog in traffic. He’s always in formation, chin up, face frozen, but his eyes always dart my way. He’s alert, well aware of my presence. The other day I raised an eyebrow in response to his darting eyes and he lost it and nearly smirked.

Last week this old guy sat down on a bench next to me and started showing me pictures of a girl from 60 years ago, long gone now. He had a yellowed love letter he had written her half a century ago, that he wanted to read to me. It was so poignant, so heart breaking, I had to go cry when he left. Lost loves from another century, remembered in every precious detail.

There’s a young guy who patrols the parking lot, a bit autistic. He introduced himself and informed me that he likes girls, he really likes girls, so he spends his days looking out for them. He fancies himself as a white knight with an important job to do. I’ve never seen him do anything inappropriate, except smile and wink at girls from 30 ft away. Sometimes they sit down on the sidewalk with him and tell him their troubles. “Her husband is a jerk,” he tells me. “That one drinks too much,” he says. “She doesn’t know how pretty she is,” he says sadly, and I nearly choke because she isn’t at all, but when I look in his eyes, I see the innocence there. He really sees her as beautiful. Dang.

Men cannot truly be misogynists. It’s impossible. They are biologically bound to women in a kind of symbiosis. Men can be jerks, be insensitive, be downright dangerous, but they cannot truly be misogynists. Misogyny is the fear and hatred of women. Men do not fear women. And they cannot hate us for very long, either. What people perceive as misogyny in men is actually a fascinating projection, like a reflection in a funhouse mirror. “Misogyny” in men is an illusion, because it’s not fear and hatred of women, it’s actually self loathing. Men who appear to hate women, really hate themselves, not us.

There is an inequality there, an unfairness, but it’s not women who get the short end of the stick this time.

Come on girl, walk on the wild side with me and embrace the misogyny, because it surely can’t be any worse than the world you’re already walking in.