Yesterday I went running and, as I passed the big hill on the park’s edge, one of a group of four high-school-aged girls sitting on the hill yelled down, rather aggressively, “Nice ass!” I called back “Why thank you,” and kept running. I was wearing very baggie shorts, and, at that point, the young ladies could only have seen my front and side views, so I can only assume that the shouter was not actually commenting on her delight at my callipygian tush. In all likelihood, one of her cohorts had dared her to yell down to that old guy that guy he had a nice ass and so she did it. So I wasn’t flattered, but I was tickled. A tiny bit of me was even tempted to storm back and jokily pretend to be offended, but that would involve a sweaty 42-year-old chatting up group of high school girls, in the park, about catcalling, which didn’t seem terribly appropriate, especially for a new and, thus far, upstanding local business man such as myself, so I just kept huffing and puffing along.
But it reminded me of Dan’s recent post, and of our discussion back in December about men and looking. It seems to me that, for men, such attention on the streets from the females – be it sincere of tongue-in-cheek – is incredibly rare or just plain unheard of, and, thus, is titillating, flattering, generally quite welcome, which is one of the reasons that many men are unsympathetic to or don’t understand women’s revulsion to being checked out. Of course, men should have the ability to imagine beyond their own experiences, to see that being objectified every day would be infuriating. But then again, we men should be a lot of things that we’re not.
Dan wrote about trying to be respectful in his glances, and I thought that was fascinating, and mirrored my own scoping policy, which is nearly OCD in nature – that is, I simply can’t stop. Or, if I do ever manage not to look when a situation makes it horribly inappropriate, it’s excruciating, a regret to last a lifetime, or so it seems.
My looking at women is objectification at its’ purest, and feels much akin to my obsession with looking at cars, at rainbows, at art, with LOOKING at stuff. To claim otherwise would be utterly disingenuous.
When I’ve been in relationships with women who had a low tolerance for my wandering eye, it was torture for both of us. I’d even go so far as to call it a relationship dealbreaker, and I feel very very lucky that the woman I’m in love with, who I hope to spend the rest of my life with, not only indulges but is nearly as eager a looker at women as am I.It seems to me that couples should really consider issues like looking early on in a relationship. It seem like proverbially sweating the proverbial small stuff, but, when choosing a mate, the small stuff can be grounds for divorce, even murder, later.
As I write this, I’m sitting in a local cafe right now, looking out the window. A little while ago a fantastic-looking woman in, let’s just say, an outfit only appropriate to a 90+ degree day like today, walked by. I wish Anja could’ve been here with me to watch her both coming and going, and that’s a wonderful thing for someone like me to be able to wish.
