This morning before work I stopped at the gas station around the corner to get a drink, and a man followed me in the parking lot while talking loudly to his friend about my butt. After his initial comment I thought, "Wow. That is quite rude and I am offended," even though he's right and my butt is really great. The difference is I generally prefer people think that discretely inside their heads instead of saying it out loud right in front of me.
When he upped the ante to start to tell me about my own great butt (lololol /jk sir, this is not news to me), I stopped, turned around, made eye contact, and said, "Fuck off."
I knew it was a bad idea, because the outcome of "saying something" is always a bad idea. It doesn't keep me from doing it, because I have respect for myself and no respect for strangers shouting things at me, but it's a bad idea. Just so we're clear.
Our conversation proceeded in the approved pattern well-established by our society: "What's that? You don't actually like it when I objectify you? YOU are RUDE!" (Yes, it's me! I am the one who is rude!) "I will now become belligerent in my attempts to shame and berate you!" and I soon learned that I am the hugest bitch in the world. I learned this after he approached and screamed it in my face four or five times. Did you know that?! The hugest!! It's great news. I'm feeling really good about it.
Situations of this nature are A) depressingly common in my overall life experience, B) as baffling in their desired outcome as they are enraging, and C) have a more deeply profound effect on my willingness to go anywhere, at any time of day, ever, alone, than I would like to admit. That was when it occurred to me that not raising Jude to be a man exactly like this would be one of my life's most easily achievable and gratifying works.