Omaha and I spent New Year's Eve at the Seattle Center, which is a common gathering point for Seattlites without a better plan. The city adorns its beloved Space Needle monument with fireworks and blows them off at midnight to herald the new year, and then everyone walks home. There are a lot of anecdotes I could pack into the evening, but there are two that stand out for me as worth considering.
Like a lot of men, I have more than a little of the lecher in me. I try to keep it well-contained and polite. So while Omaha had gone dancing (She felt compelled to dance to every song the band played; I only felt compelled by about every third song or so) I sat at our table and fiddled with the book I'd brought in my pocket. At the table next to ours, an exquisitely beautiful young woman with vaguely Chinese features wearing a read sweater-dress and black leggings sat down and began punching a text into her phone. I admired her, hopefully not so long that she'd notice or be embarrassed by it, and then went back to my book. She rose and got an empty chair, and I quelled my inner pervert when I understood that someone was going to be joining her soon-- perhaps a jealous boyfriend.
Another woman arrived and sat next to her. She wore the exact same outfit, and from the back seemed to have the exact same haircut. The first woman held up her phone in front of them to take a selfie, and I realized her date for the evening was her sister. Her twin sister.
Gods help me.
Anyway, after taking a moment to note that encounter down, I went back to my book.
A little later, Omaha was in line for the ladies' restroom. It was a heck of a long line. I took a seat on a small bench parked nearby. A man wearing a heavy parka who looked to be in his late 30s walked into the space between me and the line and said, loudly, "You ladies wouldn't be waiting so long if you didn't spend so much time in there, powdering up your faces or whatever." A few of the women glared at him.
I put my book down and looked up at him. "Dude," I said aloud, "Was that really necessary?"
"It's true!" he said, loudly. "They're in there, doing up their faces or whatever."
"Look," I said quietly, still not getting up, "They're suffering enough, being patient at all. Just leave 'em alone."
He muttered something about "Maybe they should put mirrors outside," and quickly left the building. Nothing else happened. I went back to the book.
I'm looking at these two incidents and trying to figure out if I did the right thing in either case. In the first one, I think I did; we can't not be human in public; when two beautiful women sit nearby, I'm going to notice. I didn't try to attract their attention, or ask them to do unpaid emotional labor on my behalf. I'm perfectly capable of conjuring up my own fantasies about twins and even if I wasn't, there are plenty of paid professionals out there willing to do it for me. Or even unpaid amateurs.
In the second, though, I'm wondering if I stayed seated, stayed small, and avoided getting in this guy's face more because he was big and large and I'm not all that confident. The women in line didn't do anything to deserve that sort of harrassment; I should have done more. Ah, well, I'll try not to beat myself up too much about it.
Like a lot of men, I have more than a little of the lecher in me. I try to keep it well-contained and polite. So while Omaha had gone dancing (She felt compelled to dance to every song the band played; I only felt compelled by about every third song or so) I sat at our table and fiddled with the book I'd brought in my pocket. At the table next to ours, an exquisitely beautiful young woman with vaguely Chinese features wearing a read sweater-dress and black leggings sat down and began punching a text into her phone. I admired her, hopefully not so long that she'd notice or be embarrassed by it, and then went back to my book. She rose and got an empty chair, and I quelled my inner pervert when I understood that someone was going to be joining her soon-- perhaps a jealous boyfriend.
Another woman arrived and sat next to her. She wore the exact same outfit, and from the back seemed to have the exact same haircut. The first woman held up her phone in front of them to take a selfie, and I realized her date for the evening was her sister. Her twin sister.
Gods help me.
Anyway, after taking a moment to note that encounter down, I went back to my book.
A little later, Omaha was in line for the ladies' restroom. It was a heck of a long line. I took a seat on a small bench parked nearby. A man wearing a heavy parka who looked to be in his late 30s walked into the space between me and the line and said, loudly, "You ladies wouldn't be waiting so long if you didn't spend so much time in there, powdering up your faces or whatever." A few of the women glared at him.
I put my book down and looked up at him. "Dude," I said aloud, "Was that really necessary?"
"It's true!" he said, loudly. "They're in there, doing up their faces or whatever."
"Look," I said quietly, still not getting up, "They're suffering enough, being patient at all. Just leave 'em alone."
He muttered something about "Maybe they should put mirrors outside," and quickly left the building. Nothing else happened. I went back to the book.
I'm looking at these two incidents and trying to figure out if I did the right thing in either case. In the first one, I think I did; we can't not be human in public; when two beautiful women sit nearby, I'm going to notice. I didn't try to attract their attention, or ask them to do unpaid emotional labor on my behalf. I'm perfectly capable of conjuring up my own fantasies about twins and even if I wasn't, there are plenty of paid professionals out there willing to do it for me. Or even unpaid amateurs.
In the second, though, I'm wondering if I stayed seated, stayed small, and avoided getting in this guy's face more because he was big and large and I'm not all that confident. The women in line didn't do anything to deserve that sort of harrassment; I should have done more. Ah, well, I'll try not to beat myself up too much about it.
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