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Sunday, April 7, 2013

Man of my Dreams

So finally among the land of the living, and I have gotten in some running this weekend.  Though admittedly it has been a little slow and I can definitely feel the need to reestablish my breath support after being sick.  I was with my husband and it was 70 degrees out in our neighborhood.  There were tons of folks out enjoying the day, including that guy.  You know him ladies.  Guys this may not be an issue for you, because I can't remember ever driving in my car and seeing a guy running down the street and thinking, "hey.  You know what I think I'll do?  I will roll down my window and yell out 'eewwweee, looking good, come on over here, little man.'"  I know for a fact there are men who can't say the same thing.  I mean really?  What is the point?  What goes through the toothless redneck's mind.  Hey if I lean out just right, and show her I have on the good overalls, and yell just the right totally insulting "compliment", she will stop in her tracks and realize Prince Charming has finally arrived.  Forget a white horse ladies; he is in a 1978 Chevy Truck with No Fat Chicks mud Flaps.
I mean honestly I am out running with my husband.  What is the objective?  What if just one time, one of us actually stopped?  We started waving the truck over and was like "did you call me Little Lady? Do you really think I am little?  I have been waiting my whole life for some anonymous lunatic out of Deliverance to yell 'Com'ere little lady' out of the back of a pick up.  I am all yours."  I bet they would not know what to do with themselves.  On the off chance they would; that is a very dangerous idea.  Do not do that. 
But seriously as women we learned that a long time ago.  Especially when you are twenty.  That is when just the act of walking down the street invites comments from any guy that thinks they have the cover of anonymity and a creative turn of phrase.  It happens less, the further we get away from 20.  If your 20, and reading this, and thinking what is it about being 20?  You are 20, and in a demonstration of the universe's love of irony, you will never appreciate the power imbued in being 20 until you are 40.  Mind you I take care of myself, I run, eat right, take care of my skin.  I don't think I necessarily look my age.  Of course this weekend I am also that post-flu weight.  (Half a cup of soup and a piece of dry toast a day for a week is an amazing diet, unless you actually need to have enough energy to walk, bathe, or talk on the phone.)  You know that look, the one that makes you look like Angelina Jolie may need to adopt you.  In the many things in life that make the world different for a woman than a man, we are openly propositioned from moving vehicles, by men who probably have wives and baby's mamas waiting eagerly for their return from today's possum hunt.  Hope you enjoyed your weekend run. 
Ever have anyone yell random come ons to you while you are just trying to get your run in?

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