Yesterday three different people whistled at me; a couple of drunk guys at the bus stop wanted to discuss my putative beauty; a man wandering down the street with a mop leered up close to ask after my health; and an indie rocker tried to strike up a conversation in line at the grocery store.
I’ve never had to deal with this kind of nonsense. Even when I was young and cute people left me alone. I’ve gone through various phases of wandering about in lingerie or dresses that unravel without soliciting the comment of strangers. I do not look like someone who will suffer the attentions – I look like someone who will punch you in the face if you bother me.
People have never had the impression that they could approach me for any reason (with the exception of scared children and lost tourists, who sense that I can help).
I keep the tattoo covered and lately my preference is for dark sensible clothing. The only possible explanation for all of this new attention is my hair. Nine months ago, when it was six different colors, people left me alone. Now it seems that bleached blond hair is some kind of universal please harass mesign.
Who knew that such an ordinary color would be so annoying.