Leching as an Olympic sport?

How I love luxuriating over morning coffee on the patio of my favourite cafe as I scribble in my journal. But one day last week I was distracted by a man barking into his cell phone in Italian. He was older than me, well groomed, and dressed high-casual.

Me being pensive and writerly, smoking a Pretz snack in a dark speakeasy
last year at the Vancouver blogger meetup. I was drinking a Dorothy Parker cocktail. 

As he was talking (shouting) he suddenly craned his neck to gaze intently at a young woman strolling by. He was clearly agitated. I thought, oh, that must be a friend. But when the next woman went by, and the next, and next, and his eyes kept bugging alarmingly out of his head on a neck swivelling like a cartoon character, I caught on.

He was a lecher! Vile creature. His contortions were so extreme and comical I thought if synchronized diving can be an Olympic sport so can leching: points for bug eyes, points for neck stretching and neck swivel, points for drool volume. In fact, I thought of retrieving the doggy water refreshment bowl as a courtesy to catch his slobber but, no, that would be cruel to the dogs. I just hoped his phone was waterproof.

Sigh.

In my fifties, I am now in the privileged position of being able to watch this circus from the sidelines, although when I was young I was rarely the subject of such ogling, even near construction sites. I was the girl with the blue cat's eye glasses, braces, flat chest, and fine hair, so instead of wolf whistles I got dog barks. Always. For years and years I'd walk for blocks out of my way to avoid such trauma from those particular apish men in hard hats and steel toes.

I always relished the thought of reversing the tables. "Yo, show me those wieners and beans, big boys! Ooo-ee, that some hairy hunk of man meat. Swing it! Batter up! Throw some stink my way, you manly rutting goat." Or simply throwing a bark or two their way. But you see, the thought of doing any of that makes me throw up in my mouth just a little bit. And in fact, I have changed, and maybe so have the people I once loathed.

While I don't detour around construction sites anymore (almost impossible in this city anyway) I still stiffen slightly when I near one. Now it is not unusual for the men there to stop talking and maybe lower their heads slightly as I walk by. A few might nod and mumble a compliment. They make me feel, dare I say, regal. Maybe this is the respect you get for graduating into the don't-diss-grandma category. I really don't know.

In these photos I'm wearing my vintage jumpsuit, cool vintage leather belt, and my Steve Madden platform sandals. This jumpsuit is super comfortable. 

I suspect we've all been negatively affected at some point in our lives with unwanted attention, although interestingly most of the women I saw that day didn't seem to mind this lecher's gawking - many who saw him smiled or smirked back. A few ignored him altogether. I get the attraction of young beautiful people, but really, drooling? Gawking? Get the guy a bib!

I liked the movie Absolutely Fabulous and its treatment of this issue. Is there anything you'd like to share on this wildly vast topic?

I'm linking up to Catherine at Not Dressed as Lamb for #iwillwearwhatilike. Patti's Visible Monday at Not Dead Yet Style is off this week while she moves.

And this past week I was so lucky to have another blogger meetup. Bwahahaha. Suzanne Carillo and Sue of A Colourful Canvas. I'll be posting on this a bit later. Stay tuned.

Where has the summer gone, by the way?