This is something that never ever fails. When I’m walking on the street – men check me out. Not look or glance. But check me out. The way I – unintentionally might occasionally – check out women. So I know the look.
It. Never. Fails.
It’s almost comical because pretty much everyone does it. It doesn’t matter if it’s the obvious gay with cut-off jeans-short-shorts and too tight white/rainbow colored tank top or the guy whose talking a stroll with his pretty wife and dog, you encounter. They all give me their steamiest “sssssuup, how you doing” look.
Sometimes I take the Sunday walks with Oskar and he can’t stop laughing about it. Forcing me trying not to look up just to ignore the awkward confrontation. Of course I can’t help myself and is always greeted by the a little bit too polite/long/intense/tempting stare they give me. Sometimes couples approach me and – as always – I give the woman a fair and proper inspection before the courtesy glance at the dude to make sure he’s not offended. And nope. He doesn’t seem to be too annoyed as his glance says he’s looking hungry and ready to trade her for boy any day.