I got whistled at today.
A truck stopped to let me cross the street. And then I was whistled at.
My initial response was incredulity. I looked around and the passenger in the truck, a scruffy-looking fellow, smiled and waved as they drove away.
My second response was to regret that my hand was too full of books to flip them off.
My third response was, well, I got whistled at. When you know deep down that you aren’t pretty, even as a forward-thinking, modern woman, you can’t help but grin hugely to yourself when you get some harmless attention from a complete stranger.
Even now, I’m certain that he couldn’t have possibly have seen me that well in the bright sunshine. Or he was whistling ironically.