Day 3

3. Write a story from the point of view of the opposite sex.

I've had my fair share of cat calls. Sometimes they are flattering, when I've purposely dressed to impress. You know, when I've spent an hour on my hair and make up, and I'm wearing a cute summer dress that has my yardstick body looking more like a coca-cola bottle. But today I was riding my bike in ripped jeans and a baggy t-shirt. I wasn't trying to impress. I was strictly business about a quick run to the market for a bottle of merlot.

Stopped at a busy light, up pulls a white cargo van. The window rolled down, but I had headphones in and wasn't expecting an exchange.

"mumble mumble mumble BABY"

I took out my left ear bud and gave an ornery glance, "Sorry, what was that?"

"I've got a better ride for you BABY," said the greasy, balding, Jerry looking man in the van.

I responded with an eye roll, put my ear bud back in, and prayed for a quick light change to defuse the situation. But again, this was the busiest light to the market, and an awkward standoff ensued. I could hear him rambling on, but decided ignoring was the best way to get him to shut up. He was getting louder, I was getting more impatient of the eternal stoplight.

It finally changed and I pushed forward. Starting slowly in hopes he would speed off and it would be done. Instead, the man crept next to me, slightly turning in, pushing me towards the crosswalk filled with people. I accelerated to try and get passed him, he accelerated to stay alongside. Through the intersection, he now wedged me into a parked car. Now the gloves were off. Screaming obscenities I kicked his door, which he didn't like very much. As he tried to open his door and get out, I kicked it in again and grabbed his mirror. With She-Hulk strength his mirror found itself on the pavement. His shock gave me enough time to wiggle loose from the wedge of cars and I began racing to the market.

As I pulled up I didn't give a shit about bike racks. I rode straight through the sliding doors, approached a clerk I saw regularly and explained the situation. She let me hide in the office with my bike until I felt safe. I guess he got the message when I dropped his mirror, because he never stormed in after me.

The ride back to my apartment was a flood of over-the-shoulder look backs. Waiting for the grease-ball's return. A round two was never in the cards. But a victory glass of Merlot sure was.