Marilyn Monroe I am not


Got another one for you: Yesterday evening I was running some errands on Broadway in SoHo, dressed in a flowy skirt and my running sneakers, when out of nowhere a storm suddenly moved in and a strong wind started blowing. I moved quickly toward the nearest subway entrance to escape the storm, but as the wind blew harder and harder, I struggled with both hands to hold my skirt down while still attempting to walk and carry my bags. Marilyn Monroe I am not, and I had already been having a really terrible day, so having to deal with sudden wind gusts possibly exposing my underwear to the world was bringing me very close to the end of my rope. It was just then, of course, that a disgusting man who looked to be in his late 50s (older than my father!) turned around and started stalking behind me, shouting, “Blow wind, blow!” and, “Show me some of that ass!” along with other obscenities. Humiliated, creeped out, angry, and on the verge of tears, I found myself wishing so hard that I had a third hand available so that I could punch the perv right in the face. Alas, had to weather his harassment all the way down the block, and there was nothing I could do to stop him. I still feel gross thinking about it.

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