As a parent, one of the things I have found in common with other parents is the new found doubt in our appeal to those who are not married to us, or conceived by us. I don't even remember the last time someone held a door for me, or asked me...well, asked me anything other than "oh, how old is she?" or "Wow, expecting another?" The last one, by the way, was asked by a woman two aisles over in Trader Joe's to which I bitterly replied, "No, I'm just fat." That was a great day.
Today, however was different. I was out for a nap time walk with my little one, dressed in a lovely ensemble of capri sweat pants, dirty tank top and MBTs. (MBTs, by the way, are simply delightful. People will ask you why you are wearing such "interesting" shoes, but your back will feel fantastic. So treat yourself.)
It happened.
"Woo hoo! Yeah Baby! Nice one!"
I look up to see a white van with a man hanging out the window. A paper bag in one hand, and a long flowing mullet blowing behind him, he gave me the thumbs up and blew me a kiss.
Most women would be immediately horrified and disgusted, but all I could think about was, "does this count as being whistled at?"
I decided it did, but still felt the need to ask everyone I talked to for their opinion. So far everyone agrees that I can count it, and that's good enough for me.
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