thinly disguised compliments

Olivia

Why part of me hates wearing shorts in the summer even though I have great legs: 1. Wolf-whistled within 10 seconds of leaving the house. 2. Minutes later the TFL attendant stops me as I’m about to go through the ticket gates. “Wo wo miss stop.” Coming over to me. I thought he was about to say the tube’s closed. “My gates get very wobbly when they see beautiful women. Just be careful yeh. They get wobbly. Be careful.” Out of habit, from a lifetime of being taught to please others and not to ‘rock the boat’ or offend anyone, I dutifully smile. Then I remember that I don’t have to pretend that I find this flattering anymore. It’s tiring. I can acknowledge what this really is – weird and creepy. Being harassed as I begin my commute of an afternoon by a middle-aged, balding, fat man who is supposed to be in a position of authority for my safety and security on the tube and responsible for my customer satisfaction. I drop my smile with immediate effect and it crashes to the floor as I finally locate my oyster card and march through the barriers with attitude. He didn’t mean it in a bad way. He thought he was being kind and funny and friendly. (But I’m thinking what if that’s because we’ve been silent for too long and just ‘ignoring’ it? With the result that he and too many others are blissfully unaware of the effects of their actions) And I feel anything but. I felt on top of the world as I left the house and now I feel ridiculed, self-conscious, vulnerable, fed-up, tired, small, insignificant, unimportant, sad, upset, angry, unable to look at anyone on the tube and paranoid that everyone was looking at me, looking me up and down, letchilously. I know that’s not a word yet but it should be. Looking around, there aren’t that many people wearing shorts considering the heat and considering what great legs Londoners normally have from all that walking. Maybe this is why. It’s summer. It’s hot. I’m wearing shorts. They’re called legs. Most people have got them. Get over it. Please don’t make me feel like some weird sex-alien for having legs. This is not exceptional. This is “normal”. I just felt compelled to write. Mainly for therapy. (I also posted this on my facebook and instagram and is now one of my most popular posts in terms of reaction, which just highlights the need for all of this!)