The following post should be blamed on bone-crushing, soul-destroying fatigue.

Dear men,

It’s been a long while since I’ve been catcalled, wolf-whistled, leered at, been given the ol’ creepy-murmur-in-the-ear, or subjected to the unwanted viewing of what should be very, very private behavior.

What gives?

I know it’s winter, and it’s not easy to lurk outdoors, waiting for a worthy female to pass your way. It’s hard to unbutton and unzip the many not-quite-clean layers, should someone happening by warrant exposure of your privates. But what about the comment shared from a passing van? The obscene gesturing in the vegetable aisle of the supermarket? The suggestive use of a coffee stirrer in the coffee shop? These are all viable cold-weather options. Get creative!

Is it the kid? It’s the kid, isn’t it. Look, he doesn’t know what’s going on. He’s way more interested in making tthhhhttthhthbt noises at the planes overhead than what that unusual-smelling man is saying to Mommy. Besides, I saw some of you making eyes at the young nanny lifting her ward from his stroller outside Joe’s Pizza. While it’s true that her booty did, in fact, say pow, I don’t see why mine can’t be afforded the same courtesy. I had a heavy coat on—lined with Thinsulate. You are not aware, no doubt, of how Thinsulate can muffle the booty as it pows and bams and does what the very, very hot booties do. So, you see. Until the weather improves, you’re going to have to take it on faith that I do, in fact, shake that ass.

I may be a teensy bit unwashed and, no, I’m not wearing any makeup; yes, those are cottage cheese curds nestled in my hair, and yep, that’s “The Itsy Bitsy Spider” I’m singing to my shrieking child. Not very sexy, I know. So simply avert your eyes and make with the politically incorrect comments, already. You provide the commentary, I'll give you the finger, and balance will be restored. I thank you.