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Let’s Make a Baby (Bad Lines: Part Nineteen)

June 6, 2009

I was walking home from the coffee shop this morning, slightly spacey and mapping the day in my head. I passed a super-cute teenage boy who gave me the up-and-down, nodded, smirkily smiled, then went on his way. That’s odd, I thought, rather brazen for a kid. Then I realised, nuh-uh, that was no boy. I make this mistake now and then–clocking a sweet boyish dyke as a sixteen-year-old boy, and vice versa–and remember when my crew cut and saggy jeans garnered similar confusion.

I’ve long since grown my hair, swapped size 34 jeans for a more fitting 26, added lipstick and mascara to my toiletries drawer. I’ve also outgrown my babyface, meaning I look neither like a boy nor like jailbait. This transformation is a couple years old, but each spring I’m surprised by how much attention I attract when I shuck my parka and heavy boots. This is not because I am hot stuff. Oh, no, I am perfectly aware that every woman is drawing attention…walking down the street, hanging out at the park, cycling, waiting to catch the streetcar.

It’s all in how a man handles the situation–all catcalls are not created equal. Over dinner last weekend, I was charmed by a friend’s description of Spring Fever, which he expressed as a full sentence: “It is spring, and you see other people, and how they look makes you want to be with them,” he demurely confessed. Likewise, this morning’s once-over was adorable, particularly the little nod.

And then there’s the dude who cycled past me a few seconds later. Even without a well-mannered lesbian against which to contrast his remark, this guy had everything stacked against him. The forecast called for a warm day but it was barely 10 a.m., and sensible people could be spotted in light jackets and hoodies. This guy? Rocking one of those weight-lifter tanktops with the armpits cut to his ribs. Skin tanned a brassy orange, wrap-around shades, overdeveloped thighs forcing him to pedal bow-legged. All this topped by a do-rag that would make any WWE member proud.

Swerving closer to the curb, he whistled through his teeth then hissed, “Lookin’ sweeeet and tiiiiight, awww yeahhhhh,” before making a kissy face and passing on by. Damnit, I wish he’d stopped. He could have doubled me back to his bachelor pad where we would have made sweet, generous love all day long.

2 Comments leave one →
  1. Carrie permalink
    June 8, 2009 11:48 am

    Ha ha HA!
    I like the Spring Fever description, too. That truly describes the whole making -eyes-over-the-tulips thing that happens when the weather warms up a bit.


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