Walking down the street with Shithead trailing slightly behind me*, I turn around to see if i've lost him the the Sunday press of bodies thronging the street and find him looking at me, snickering uncontrollably.
"What's so funny?"
"This old perv leering at you like that cartoon wolf."
"Yes. You didn't notice him or any of the other ones,though. You are completely oblivous to attention when you walk. It's pretty funny."
Once again I'm clueless to the male leer. It's one thing when I've tarted myself up for a night at the discoteque, or even getting the ubiquitous ciao bella while walking around; in the first case I expect staring and in the second they draw attention to themselves by commenting. But those silent leers, especially when I'm feeling rather spotty or tired or pale, swoosh past my head apparently.
I saw a friend who I haven't seen in a few year the other day. He said,
"Well, my hair is a lot longer now."
"No, I mean your face. It's more of a woman's face now."
I'm fairly sure he meant it as a compliment, but that still didn't stop me from searching my face for wrinkles and bags the past few days (said paranoia hasn't been helped by finding more grey hairs in the previous days before I saw him.)
*I walk fast with a long stride, in spite of my vertically challenged status. If you can't keep up, I don't wait.