But, Erm. Why not? We live in a culture where women are objects, meat for the taking.
And why not from an old man? Because old people are so much more polite than the 'yout' of today? Perhaps but they lived in a time where women were still striking out and beginning to live beyond the home.
It's hard to guesstimate how old this old man actually was. Old enough that he was shuffling along (though I do that in the morning with a hangover). Old enough that he was wrinkled and had baggy skin. Old enough that he was sensibly dressed for the cold weather.
The more I think about it, the more righteous my fury becomes. I am practically apoplectic as I replay the events in my head. I am walking down the slope of the Lidl car park towards the station. After having to wait for a car to reverse out of its spot in order to leave, I continued walking, and there was an elderly man walking towards me. Nothing out of the ordinary, looking slightly like Victor Meldrew as he shuffled along, adorned in long black coat, black beanie hat and red scarf.
And since he was shuffling and wasn't going to change his path of direction to make sure we could pass each other, I moved over slightly.
And that's when I saw what was coming. His left arm moved out from his side, at perhaps a 30 degree angle. I thought maybe he was going to stop me and ask me a question so I instinctively slowed down just a touch.
Ha, just a touch, what an apt turn of phrase. Because as we passed that's what he did. He touched me. The 30 degree angle became a 45 degree angle and as we passed it touched my jeans just left of the zipper and dragged his hand along the top of my thigh. And I kept walking, but said out loud (not very loudly) "what the..?"
I turned to look over my shoulder at him and I could see him still shuffling along, arm down again, but he turned his head slightly back towards me too. Only briefly.
I was in shock. An old man, shuffling past me in the car park of Lidl, just touched me up. And I know I didn't imagine it because my left thigh is incredibly sensitive since I got my tattoo, and not just directly on my tattoo but all around it.
And I kept walking. I was in so much shock. Now, shock has given way to downright anger and disgust. I was not shocked when my friends got touched up in a bar last night. We take that kind of sexual harassment for granted in bars and clubs.
BUT THIS WAS THE LIDL CAR PARK. I walk through there every day for work. That's how I get to the station. And he was an OLD MAN. Not some drunk sleazy banker guy that we (shouldn't have to but unfortunately do) expect to try and grab us.
But next time it happens - to me, my sister, my friend, any other woman - I will not be shocked. And he will see my righteous fury. It doesn't matter how old you are, you do not have the right to touch me without my permission.
And why not from an old man? Because old people are so much more polite than the 'yout' of today? Perhaps but they lived in a time where women were still striking out and beginning to live beyond the home.
It's hard to guesstimate how old this old man actually was. Old enough that he was shuffling along (though I do that in the morning with a hangover). Old enough that he was wrinkled and had baggy skin. Old enough that he was sensibly dressed for the cold weather.
The more I think about it, the more righteous my fury becomes. I am practically apoplectic as I replay the events in my head. I am walking down the slope of the Lidl car park towards the station. After having to wait for a car to reverse out of its spot in order to leave, I continued walking, and there was an elderly man walking towards me. Nothing out of the ordinary, looking slightly like Victor Meldrew as he shuffled along, adorned in long black coat, black beanie hat and red scarf.
And since he was shuffling and wasn't going to change his path of direction to make sure we could pass each other, I moved over slightly.
And that's when I saw what was coming. His left arm moved out from his side, at perhaps a 30 degree angle. I thought maybe he was going to stop me and ask me a question so I instinctively slowed down just a touch.
Ha, just a touch, what an apt turn of phrase. Because as we passed that's what he did. He touched me. The 30 degree angle became a 45 degree angle and as we passed it touched my jeans just left of the zipper and dragged his hand along the top of my thigh. And I kept walking, but said out loud (not very loudly) "what the..?"
I turned to look over my shoulder at him and I could see him still shuffling along, arm down again, but he turned his head slightly back towards me too. Only briefly.
I was in shock. An old man, shuffling past me in the car park of Lidl, just touched me up. And I know I didn't imagine it because my left thigh is incredibly sensitive since I got my tattoo, and not just directly on my tattoo but all around it.
And I kept walking. I was in so much shock. Now, shock has given way to downright anger and disgust. I was not shocked when my friends got touched up in a bar last night. We take that kind of sexual harassment for granted in bars and clubs.
BUT THIS WAS THE LIDL CAR PARK. I walk through there every day for work. That's how I get to the station. And he was an OLD MAN. Not some drunk sleazy banker guy that we (shouldn't have to but unfortunately do) expect to try and grab us.
But next time it happens - to me, my sister, my friend, any other woman - I will not be shocked. And he will see my righteous fury. It doesn't matter how old you are, you do not have the right to touch me without my permission.
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