You Make Me Sick

I like to think of myself as a calm and patient person, who has a gentle and easygoing nature. But the truth is; I'm not. There are many things that irritate me and get on my nerves, one being lateness. I am one of those people who will be sitting in the café ready to order, checking my watch and getting extremely angry at the mere anticipation of someone being even a couple of minutes late. There are other things that drive me mad such as people who scuttle ahead of me once they've gotten off the train to 'try' and walk up the Martin Place escalator and then struggle the whole way, causing a build up of human traffic behind them. But the one thing that I dislike most is sleazy men. The kind of guys that make you wish you chose your knee-length wrap dress instead of your mini skirt with stiletto boots. The ones that can make you want to hurl up your dinner just by they way they look you up and down with their beady little eyes.

To me, these breed of men are either incredibly stupid or just don't care. Because you see, nothing is sexier than a gentleman. Someone who can still maintain eye contact even though you're wearing a dress that drapes down to your naval. I once wore such a dress and was accosted by an absolute pig whilst innocently making my way to the bar. He blatantly stared at my chest and when I gave him a disapproving look he responded by yelling, 'If you didn't want me to look then you should've worn something else.' It's no wonder that the only thing these guys pick up at the end of the night is the bar tab.

Guys like this are everywhere. Out in the clubs, in the work place or sometimes just sitting across from you on the train. I remember one time while commuting home from work; I had a guy stare at me for a good fifteen minutes with this creepy smile on his face. My rage was seething below the surface as I struggled to contain myself. I kept thinking to myself; who the hell does this guy think he is? He thinks he can intimidate me and I'm going to do nothing? I couldn't hold it any longer and even though I tried to keep a cool and even tone it came out as a deafening roar when I finally yelled at him. 'Excuse me can I help you with something? Or do you just have a staring problem?!?!' The other travellers all turned to look at this man, intrigued by who had offended me. The women gave him death stares and then men looked amused. The guy proceeded to get off at the next stop, making a swift exit before anymore abuse ensued.

It's all well and good when you are in a safe environment and you feel safe enough to confront these dregs of society. But it can be downright unsettling when you're walking home and you have some freak whistling at you and calling you over. It's then that I wish I had an array of weapons tucked into the pockets of my trench coat so that I could calmly walk over, open my coat, and display my ammo inviting this idiot to just try and mess with me. But instead all I can do is clutch my umbrella tighter, ready to use it as a weapon if necessary and power walk my ass all the way home.

It really makes me wonder; what on Earth are these men trying to accomplish? Do they honestly believe that the way they appreciatively tap my behind is going to make me feel really special? It just makes my skin crawl. These poor excuses for human beings need to be schooled on how to treat a lady, because according to their knowledge they must have been taught at the butchers in a crash course on how to treat a piece of meat. So fellas, the next time you're out, try to have a bit of respect and take pointers from the gentleman that opens the door for us and lights our cigarette. Otherwise I hope you one day get a nasty surprise when you ask what's underneath a woman's trench coat.