If you liked my A-cup, you're gonna loooove this.

After I wrote about getting honk-harassed on the interstate by some truck driver with a boob fixation, an anonymous reader deposited the following jewel of intelligent observation in the comments:

Why can't you girls just admit you love all the attention you get. It's not like you don't crave it.

I don’t usually answer my comments (although I love getting them, so don’t stop!) -- and particularly, I don’t bother to respond to ones that are as… special as this one. But lately, there’s a lot going on that has me thinking about the general experience of being a woman – from horrific tragedies to passing annoyances – and so today, I'm going to respond to the aforementioned comment on behalf of "girls" everywhere. Ready?

Dear author-of-the-aforementioned-comment,

...Oh, wait. That will never work. We’ve simply got to do away with such ridiculous formalities! Here, I’ll start: My name is Kat, and you are… oh, posting anonymously. Well, bollocks. My dear sir, since you haven’t given me so much as a nickname by which to address you, I’m afraid I’ll just have to make something up. Let me see, it’ll have to be something that suits you, something really appropriate, something subtle yet evocative…

Ah, of course.

Assgobbler von Cheesecrotch.

Dear Mr. Cheesecrotch,

Sir, I am chagrined. What can I say? Three days ago, I was but a silly woman who thought that my body ought not to be subject to public commentary by strangers on the street – but now, NOW sir, you have educated me.

For starters, please, allow me to apologize for so shamefully slandering the noble catcaller – a man whom, I did not realize, is seeking only to provide me with the attention I so desperately crave when he approaches me unbidden on the street with his adoring, indulgent, selfless shouts of “I want to fuck you in the ass!”

As the vivacious and spirited Miss Jessica Cutler once famously said: “A person who loves you will not try to fuck you in the ass while sober.” – and I can assure you, sir, that the gentleman in question was most certainly not sober… which means that I not only rebuffed his gallant ministrations, but also missed out on the chance to be done, in the butt, by someone who truly loved me. Oh, the folly! The regret!

Assgobbler von Cheesecrotch, if only you could see me now, you would see my tears of shame. I weep, I weep.

The thing is, Mr. Cheesecrotch – oh, can I call you Assgobbler? -- foolish ladyfolk like myself have been prancing about for quite some time, trying to insist that there’s some sort of difference between “wanted attention” and “unsolicited offers of ass-fuckery”. Ha! Of course, we are LIARS. You caught us, Assgobbler! How we are shamed!

Of course we love all the attention we get, every last bit of it. And of course, there is no notable distinction whatsoever between that pleasant young man who bought us a drink and chatted with us about our hobbies that one time, and the construction worker who called “Show me your tits!” from on high at 7:00am on a Monday.

Or the stranger in a polyester suit who strode past us this afternoon, staring aggressively at our ass whilst audibly sucking his teeth.

Or the rather shifty-looking gentleman who strategically placed himself behind us during our evening subway commute and, without so much as a “Hello”, proceeded to rub his shifty little boner against our behind. Why, Mr. Boner Buttgrinder wasn’t a pervert at all – only a man of few words, doing what he could to fulfill the needs of his fellow citizens. (Ooh, perhaps you know each other? Are you brothers? If so, Assgobbler, please do send him my most heartfelt apologies.)

I see the light, Assgobbler, and lo, it is glorious. Where once I thought that unsolicited sexual overtures from street strangers were an annoying interruption at best, objectifying and intimidating at worst, I now realize the folly of my ways. Why, these men knew what I wanted before I could even know it myself – to be propositioned, shouted at, pinched, groped, and – yes! yes! – FUCKED in the ASS by a stunning array of streetfolk who don’t even know my name. Because it’s all attention, and it’s all FANTASTIC.

And yet, having been shown the error of my ways, I find my thoughts turning to you -- yes, you, Assgobbler von Cheesecrotch. I pity you! You who, as a man, will never know the joy that comes from basking in the glow of all this Glorious. Fucking. Attention. Do you crave it any less for your sex? Is it fair that you should be forced to do without, all your life, simply because you have a penis? No, and no, and no again. It isn't fair, Assgobbler. It isn't right.

And that is why, tonight, I would like to meet you for a drink – my treat! – and spend a couple hours talking about your hobbies, your interests, the weather, or any other number of suitable topics. I might also invite some friends, and perhaps some total strangers as well, to pass through and indulge you with their thoughts about the size and shape of your scrotum – oh no, please, allow me! After a lifetime without catcalling, I wouldn’t want you to miss out on that! And then, you poor, attention-starved dear? And then? And then?

Oh, of course.
Then, I’ll fuck you in the ass.

Much love and warmest regards,
Kat