Cat-Call Me, Maybe?

You know when you’re having a really ugly day?

It’s probably Monday. Your roots are greasy and your make-up is chipping from the mildest gust of wind, since you decided to leave it untouched as the weekend called for yet another impromptu girls’ night out. No amount of dry shampoo can save you. Let’s face it, morning coffee takes precedence over any attempt to mend your cracked eyeliner and smudged mascara. Even the strongest Victoria’s Secret “Ur Sexi” body mist won’t suppress that undeniable scent of cheap vodka seeping from your pores.

That’s me today.

Begrudgingly, I trek my way to work, embracing my “grunge” look as if it were on purpose. For some reason, employers don’t offer a personal day for ugly days. Thanks, Obama.

There I was, lost in my own thoughts of self-loathing, analyzing some disconcerting choices from the night before, only to be interrupted by distant shouts that could only be beautiful words of the Spanglish language.

“Ayy mami! Dat ASS!”

I could feel the obligatory eye roll of disgust travel across my face. There was even an audible “ugh” that escaped my lips. But I felt a trace of another emotion. No, please, no. I activated all the muscles in my face to hinder this wild act against feminism, but it was too late.

I smiled at a catcall.

I cautiously scanned my surroundings, just waiting to find an army of enraged hairy arm-pitted women with lit torches. Luckily, it was just me. Oh, and the wide-eyed hobo that was fond of my hiney. He definitely thought that smile was flirting.

You know what. I refuse to reprimand myself. Let it be known that, yes, on my ugly day, I still got catcalled. I deserve this.

To all my 3 of my Facebook friends that constantly share that same ridiculous catcall shaming video: we get it. And also: you’re lying.

*deletes shared catcalling video from own Facebook profile* Seriously, guys. It’s annoying.

You’re gonna tell me that when you only take Mexican showers for a week straight and a construction worker tells you he wants you to be the mother of his children, it pisses you off?

So you’re saying when you leave your bedroom for the first time after binge-watching Netflix all of spring break to check your mailbox, and that dirty old neighbor across the street reminds you that he’s single, you’ll take offense?

Okay. Ooooookay.

Have a heart, god damnit! Catcallers are people, too. They care. They call us sexy. And all you can call them is “offensive” and “degrading.”

Fine. Call me on your next ugly day. Or, in the wise and spiritually advanced words of Carly Rae Jepsen, “[cat] Call me, Maybe?”