Love in the Time of... Automobiles

No, this is not a post about love in automobiles. It’s about men in automobiles, and the dumbass things they yell:

“Heyyyy beautiful!”

“Damn, you’re fine!”

“Nice tits!”

The list goes on. One could assume they do this to find some form of love, but that is a notion I just can’t accept. I mean, I generally go, “Why? Just why?” when men on the street yell anything at me (do they actually think I’m going to stop and say, “WOW! I have just been waiting for a man to appreciate my breasts so much he yells on the street about them! MY SOULMATE!”?), but the whole car thing seems especially absurd.

I mean, you’re yelling something while moving. In a presumably fast vehicle. Away from wherever I am. Do you just do this for the hell of it? Or, do you secretly dream that one day you’ll holler at a female superhero who will, in fact, be able to chase you down? I’ve been in cars and passed attractive guys on the street. I didn’t feel inspired enough to scream after them. Maybe they just weren’t attractive enough and it’s only a matter of time before I find the man truly hot enough to warrant some maniacal shouting on my part. Maybe I still have some semblance of sanity.

This past weekend, I was walking out of The Bards with Pam. We were no more than two feet out of the bar when a cab pulled up alongside of us, and we found ourselves simultaneously blind and deaf, as the man in the passenger seat of the cab shone an intensely bright searchlight in our faces, while yelling, “Ladies! Get in! We’re going to a party!”

My instinct at the time was to blink ferociously and walk away. About a few minutes later, two thoughts popped into my mind:

First, the same “why” that pops into my mind whenever something like that happens. The second thought was more of a memory. As a young child, I was taught not to a) talk to strangers and b) accept anything from a stranger. Examples of what I was specifically NOT to accept were things like “candy.” Oh yes, and “rides in their cars.”

I was a good kid. I listened to my parents. I was never grounded - all my parents had to do was count to ten or say, “No 'Saved By The Bell,'" and any misbehavior on my part ended immediately. Though I’m now a legal adult, I’m still a good kid. If I think about it, much of what I do on a daily basis is something my parents would approve of. I’ve finally learned to turn off lights when I leave a room. I pay my bills. I eat (some) vegetables. I look both ways before crossing the street. And I don’t get into cars with strangers (cabs with strangers when a friend is with me, yes, but I learned my lesson about that one, too).

So there you have it, gentlemen. I still don’t know why you’re yelling from your window, but I can assure you, that is no way to snag a woman with good parents. Because I may not know why you’re yelling, but I do know you’re all clearly on a mission to find a lady who listens…to her family.

Photo courtesy of this site.