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Now don't tell me you've never wanted to be treated as a sex object.

Girls complain about it all the time, how they walk past construction sites and get catcalls, how guys talk to their boobs (basis for the industry of t-shirts that say "I'm up here ^"), how people ogle their bottom when they bend to pick something up. Oh, please.

If you don't even moderately appreciate the appreciation, why do you wear those tight pants? Why are those obnoxious "attitude" shirts with the big glittery statements (plastered across the general boob area) selling so well? Girls complain about guys only caring about that, and I totally agree. But we go to so much trouble to look appealing, and every single one of us sure as hell knows it ain't for our benefit. (Any time you say you look good for yourself, what you mean is you feel good knowing other people will look at you and appreciate you. You know it. You know it.)

I speak from many, many years of experience when I say that no ogling, no whistling construction workers, no notice really, really sucks. I never asked for much, just for the occasional "hey baby" every now and then. And for years, nothing. Then I went and started thinking I was pretty. And the world began to agree, so it seems.

Today I wanted to try out one of my new "clubbing" shirts, see how it wears long-term (you know how the cutest shirt can wind up chafing your armpit or some such annoying thing after a couple hours), etc. It's a sleeveless shirt with a scooped back, and two strings of fabric criss-cross over the bare shoulderblades. It's stretchy and red, with a black leopardy-type design, and some subtle glitter woven into the fabric. I love it. And it looks great on me.

But I made an error in assuming it was Texas instead of January, since the weather was in the mid-sixties yesterday. It turned up rainy and cold, so I had to wear a jacket, and every time I took off the jacket I felt like I was getting naked. :) I'm not big on the bare back thing most of the time.

I loved being nonchalant when I caught guys looking. I'd mildly sit over my theory homework, one shoulder cocked to lean my chin on my fist, and secretly grin when footsteps would come down the hall behind me and... pause, in the doorway.

Ha. I love being a sex object.

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