Don't Honk if You're Horny

So, I know that I’ve talked about this issue at least once before, but it continues to be such a problem, in (my) daily life, that I felt the need to discuss the issue once again – only this time I’m going further in depth.

As a female pedestrian, I am at the risk of experiencing unwanted honks from random drivers, or – worse! – the disgusting lean-out-the-window-and-holler/blow-a-kiss. Now, I know that you might be thinking that there are more important issues (like the Ground Zero community center, the state of the U.S. economy, our immigration policy, the drug cartels, net neutrality, or any number of potential political candidates, whose signs are plastered all over my beautiful city like a plague, and why they are the messiah and/or the anti-christ) about which we could be talking, but, I assure you, this is a pressing matter.

As I am forced to experience this frenzied, testosterone influenced, honking phenomenon nearly every day that I walk to the train, I have repeatedly asked the question: “Why are these random people honking at me, and what is their motive?” I guess I’m also asking this one: “What is their major malfunction?!”

Oh, and before I get further into this, I have to say “No worries (Mom)!” because I never feel endangered in any way by these honking not-so-secret admirers; it’s merely an issue of annoyance and, frankly, confusion.

Now, for your viewing pleasure, I have created an outline (with pictures) which shows the most likely reason for and process of the “honk”. Enjoy. 

 There he is: the perpetrator. He is minding his own business, trying to get from point A to point B, whilst drowning his daily sorrows in the best of the 80’s, 90’s, and today, though it appears he would more likely enjoy classic rock… but he knows this song… You know he knows this song, and he knows he knows this song! 

There she is: the victim. Skipping joyously to her destination… or slowly dragging her feet because, even though it’s nearly October, it’s hot and, like my Daddy would say, she’s sweatin’ like a whore in church. 

The perp spots his victim. Drool forms at the corners of his mouth as he goes into a rabid state, his need to address the victim’s beauty outwardly rising from his toes to the back of his throat like wildfire.

I am not exactly sure if the wildfire thing works in this situation, but stay with me here; I needed a comparison and that was the first thing to pop into my head, since my head has been swimming with thoughts of Panem and Katniss Everdeen for the past three days (and NO commenting about the end of the third book! Give me time to finish!)…

Back to my rant.

I think this one is self explanatory.

Honk!

At this point, the driver is satisfied, knowing that his compliment has been well received.

 At the same time, the girl feels outright degraded – singled out by the disgusting display of chauvinistic misogyny. 

This is the kind of small-scale terrorism that leads to bra burnings and inter-office law suits; Breezy says I just need to learn how to take a compliment.