Cure-All for Low Self-Esteem or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Catcall

I've been collecting catcalls again.  This inevitably happens when I'm feeling down on myself for one reason or another and need a general, albeit sort of sleazy emotional pick-me-up.  But today I was wearing my high waisted shorts with a white blouse and a blue scarf around my head (I looked quite the 50s housewife, but really, when don't I?), took off my ipod, and went to the Greenmarket for vegetables.  And lo and behold, I got two "beautifuls" within the first 20 minutes, and the piece de resistance, a "Great Legs!"  The trick to really appreciate being catcalled is to totally ignore the person who made the comment to begin with.  Never look at their face, because they are inevitably gross and sleazy.  Rarely does an attractive, well dressed man catcall.  But rest assured believing that if the creepers say it, then the attractive, well dressed men think it.  I suppose you can judge by Looks, but I never make eye contact with anyone on the street, so that doesn't work for me.

Now, this might be the most anti-feministic thing you will ever hear me say, but every once in a while I need this.  I'm very used to being liked and respected because I'm intelligent, and I'm very happy about that.  But honestly, very rarely does a member of the opposite sex tell me I'm attractive.  So every once in a while it is nice to have outside assurance, from someone who isn't my mom.