Nice tits.

So last weekend what I really needed to do was get my car washed.  It's a losing battle, since I park like 200 feet from a freeway.

Under a tree.

But the car gets so filthy, it's really got to be done at least once a month.

Cut to Sunday, as I'm walking past the carwash on my way to a local film screening.  As I'm walking, I'm thinking about the fact that I didn't go to the car wash because I wasn't in the mood to steel myself up for it.

For what, you ask?

For being hit on while I wait for my car.  Which happens more often than not.

To be honest, I usually chalk it up to my (fabulous) ass.  Because that, at least, amuses me.

I try to respond politely; be friendly back, but clearly disinterested.  I usually try to bury myself in a book so as not to be approached, but I have this habit of pausing when I read and looking up while I think.  It's not the end of the world, clearly, being hit on - But then, I'm not at a bar, you know?  I'm just trying to get the damn car washed.  And being hit on while I'm waiting for my car to be washed... Well, I have to steel myself up for it.

So I'm walking past the car wash when I realize that this is actually the reason I like the new place I've been going to for oil changes.  Everyone there is always super polite, and no one there has ever hit on me.  I actually wonder if it's a policy, because anywhere else I've ever gone for an oil change I tend to get hit on.  And frankly, for the level of professionalism at my new place, I really don't care how much the oil change costs.

It's better than putting it off the way I put off the car wash.  (Although, in the case of the car wash, I'm talking about customers rather than employees, so it's not their fault.)

So I'm walking down the street, thinking about all this, and I take a moment to notice and be glad that the streets seem quiet, free of kissy noises, "nice ass!", and that one time a guy actually turned to waggle his tongue through his fingers at me while turning a corner at an intersection.

In fact, I get all the way to the theater with no street harassment.

And, after the screening, I get all the way back to my home intersection.  I'm actually crossing my intersection thinking, Wow, A whole walk to and from with no street harassment!

And in that moment, out a passenger side window, flies:  "Nice tits!"