Today is one of those glorious days where spring is completely bypassed in favor of summer. The weather network website tells me it is currently a balmy 22 degrees Celsius (71 for those playing the Fahrenheit home game) and it feels even warmer in the sun. Glorious! I have had my Starbucks iced coffee, I have strolled in the sun, I have written several pages of screenplay... life is good.
However, I have a teeny tiny little bone to pick. Because it is so warm and lovely, I am wearing a summer dress. What is it about the summer dress that turns men into slobbering idiots? I mean, honestly. I know I am attractive enough and I look nice in my summer dresses, but the amount of attention I received today was alarming. When Random Man number ten or eleven or twelve (definitely double digits) whistles/grunts/ogles/etc it stops being flattering and starts being gross. And kind of disturbing. Disconcerting. Yes, it's a dress. Why yes, it is a nice color. I, too, am fond of my figure. Please stop acting as though it somehow belongs to you.
Genuine admiration is one thing. So is a genuine compliment along the lines of "Your dress is really beautiful." The creepy staring and strange, wordless noises? Not so much. Okay, random men along Fifth Avenue from 10th to Garfield in Park Slope? You hear me? Enough with the noises!
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