To the Man that Followed Me All the Way to My Car Today: Did You Know?

To the man that followed me all the way to my car today:

Did you know that women don’t feel flattered when strange men follow a few feet behind them telling us how nice our butts look when we walk? Did you know that instead of feeling flattered we usually feel terrified and threatened? Many of us are actually berating ourselves for not being “overly-cautious” and for not purchasing mace, pepper-spray, or a taser. We are getting mad at ourselves for having the “it will never happen to me mentality.” We don’t hear “Hey sweetheart. Where are you going?” as a question. We hear it as a threat. Our hearts aren’t fluttering because your words are welcome and exhilarating. It’s the adrenaline because we know that you are twice our size and could physically overpower us if you chose to. We aren’t looking at the ground because we’re being coy, humble, or playing hard-to-get. We’re afraid to make eye-contact in case you take that as an invitation or an agreement.

Did you know that I’m wearing this dress because it’s 90 degrees outside? I’m not wearing it because it showcases my ass when I walk. This dress is not for you. It’s for me. Also, did you know I’m wearing this dress because I want to? I like this dress. I shouldn’t have to think about which clothes will make me a target or not when I get dressed in the morning, but because of you, I have to.

Did you know I went to college and graduated with honors? Did you know that I am getting ready to go back and finish my Masters degree in English? Did you know that I am a high school teacher? Did you know that by 10:00 each morning, I’ve gotten at least 20 teenagers to think analytically about open-ended questions that make them change their own understanding of the world? Did you know that I successfully and gracefully walk a fine-line of being compassionate but not enabling, critical but not discouraging for 8 hours a day, 5 days a week? Did you know that I write notes in the margins of my books and because of that I won’t loan out copies of my favorite books to people? Did you know that I am afraid of flying, but love to take long car trips? Did you know that when I was a kid, I used to go roller-skating every Saturday morning, and that I broke both of my arms doing it? Did you know that I play the piano and that my favorite composer is Yann Tiersen? Did you know that I am sarcastic but I wear my heart on my sleeve, and that I don’t drink as much water as I should? Did you know that I love to knit while watching football? Did you know that Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday, and that I love spending time with my family? Did you know that I am a person?

Maybe you didn’t know these things. After all, many of the women that you see on a daily basis through television, movies, and advertisements aren’t people. They are objects. They look plastic,

 inferior, 

and always, always oversexed. 

So maybe you didn’t know that I am a person. That all women are people. That women don’t have to rely on their sexuality to prove that they have some sense of worth. Maybe you thought you were instilling a sense of worth within me. That I would get in my car and drive home smiling, quietly affirming myself with a “You still got it girl,” 3 snaps. Instead, I drove home with my foot shaking on the pedals because I was so bothered by how close you got, and how far you followed me.

And if you don’t know that I am a person and not an object, this entire letter will mean nothing to you. Because objects don’t have opinions that matter, or arguments that count. Objects are meant to be looked at, displayed, hung on the wall. They are emotionless and purposeless unless someone picks them up and uses them. So when I assert myself and try to explain this to you as an object, you won’t hear my words. You will see my body parts one at a time, just like the advertisements. I won't be a person; I will just be body parts.  

My words will have a double meaning, just like the advertisements.

I will be like something to consume, just like the advertisements. 

I will be stupid and emotionless, just like the advertisements.

You’ll tell your friends “she was asking for it, she wanted it.” But the lines aren’t blurred. They are distinct and well defined. You just can see them because you are staring at our breasts and our asses.