Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Tom

Tom was basically a good guy, but when he saw an attractive girl on the street he had to fight off the urge to lean out of his car window and yelp "Owww!" in a crescent shaped howl. He was perfectly aware it wasn't appropriate, or ever well received, and Tom wasn't even sexist, but still he didn't quite understand why. He didn't mean it as objectification or embarrassment, he didn't expect the girl to come running just because he showed interest, after all Tom believed that every girl that falls for a guy who demonstrates no value in a movie was seriously misogynistic. He was willing to prove himself, to get to know her and to admit when his snap judgment was wrong and the content of her character wasn't nearly attractive enough to warrant his superficial hooting. Tom wasn't confined to traditionally pretty women, he wanted to catcall the big noses and long faces, hippy girls and punk girls, girls he was pretty sure were lesbians.

"Birds did it!" he would argue and he envied their crystal clear intentions written in plumage and whistles. Tom yearned for a concise bypass to the fumbling nonsense that had to start these relationships. Wasn't it more adult, more respectful to just declare his interest? It didn't make him some uncontrollable maniac girls had to fear, all of his shirts had their sleeves, he was civilized. It was warm spring in the city, all the girls were in sandals and long skirts. One of them stepped out in front of him, walking up the sidewalk just a few paces ahead, wearing a hemp necklace and fine blond dreadlocks pulled into pom poms on either side of her head, and it took every ounce of restraint for Tom not to go "psst psst psst hey baby."

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