ah... should i be flattered?
It was a beautiful sunny day today, one of the few sunny days we have experienced in Tasmania this Claytons summer. It's been so bad I've given up on warm days altogether, and dress in long sleeve t-shirts no matter the weather, so today's warm weather rather caught me by surprise. Of course, warmth is relative - we barely made it over 21*C (70*F) but, you know, it was hot for us. Add to that the severe shortage of ozone over this part of the globe, resulting in sunburn in under 10 minutes, and one soon feels hot and bothered no matter the temperature.
So there I was, walking down the street feeling distinctly sweaty and weighted down by unnecessary layers of too-hot clothing, trying to enjoy the rays of sun but not quite getting there, when I walked past a bunch of blokes lounging around the outdoor tables of a local bar. They were young jocks, straggly hair poking out every which way, ridiculous candy framed plastic sunglasses perched on sunburnt noses, chests puffed out with ego as their bare skin fairly sizzled under the UV laden sun, pushing back in their seats as they ogled anything passing by in a skirt. A wave of revulsion pulsed through me and I positively refused to offer even a hint of noticing them.
I was almost past the group before I registered just what they were up to. 'Two out of ten' one of them said loudly enough for his words to carry not only to his group but also the skirted ones passing by on the adjoining footpath. Two out of ten? Two out of ten?? What was this, a game? Checking out the 'meat' as it travelled by them and offering a score? P.lease! 'Bogan' flashed through my mind... those boys rest firmly at the bottom of any social scale I could ever hope to construct. (Ah, maybe Robert Mugabe would be lower...)
It was at that point I had to remind myself how old I am. Actually I constantly have to remind myself and everyone else how old I am. I'm even contemplating drawing a few wrinkles around the eyes just to garner a little respect. Thirty three people, almost thirty four. Old enough to look after myself, sufficiently wise enough to offer counsel to those in distress.
Yes Cecily. Thirty three. Also old enough to let a stupid comment slide. Smart enough to laugh at the vanity of silly boys and sagely shake the head at such immaturity.
So I did. I laughed. And then the more I thought about it, the more I wondered if I shouldn't perhaps be flattered to rate a score - they weren't scoring just anyone you know... I was deemed to be within the ball park of their rather foolish scale. I suppose that might count for something. Or not.
Ah the silliness... in the end I just shook my head at such brazen testosterone and chauvenism and kept laughing. Silly boys.