New data points, need to establish what’s in it.
That would be great news for this fucking whore currently being asked who the fuck she thinks she is. How seriously do I take him? He hasn’t grabbed me, so my sense is that he’s one of the good street harassers. I wonder what a UK heat map of incidence would look like. Right now, at 4.56pm on a spring afternoon, countless women are being harassed in the street. You, a 46-year-old woman in a double bobble hat that makes you look like Mickey Mouse, which is why you chose it, are not special. Whenever these nothings happen, you understand very powerfully that they are singling you out to tell you you’re not special. Actually, let’s be statistically rational. I’m walking so fast now I’m not even looking at the magnolias. Man, this guy is really ruining the magnolias for me. Maybe I’ve angered the social media gods. Maybe this is happening because I didn’t offer up my own stories. Really? Today? When it starts not happening, I’m just thinking: oh, but this is such a COINCIDENCE! I mean, I’ve spent all day reading women’s stories of nowhere near all the things that have happened to them just walking down streets. Just in case! And in every split second, you’re somehow able to consider multiple possible theories as to what is, or isn’t, happening. How is it that the end of this empty London street, where there’s a busier road and then a square, has suddenly stretched to a point somewhere just beyond Moscow? What happens to time and space when these nothings happen? This whole nothing is going to take five minutes, yet feel so long it’s like I could have learned Mandarin, or written a novel. It’s never lovelier than now, when all the magnolias are coming out. I never say that with any other column, but of course we ladies worry about telling our own stories wrongly or unsuccessfully.Īnyway, I’m walking to collect one of my children after school yesterday, down the street I always take. But please, I said to him, please tell me if it comes out wrong. Should have just tied a weight round it and sent it to sleep with the fishes, with all the other ones. Except I’m writing this stupid record of this one now. Really, it’s just – – it’s just part of life! I told him the truth, that I genuinely forget about these things soon after they happen.
I’m absolutely and completely fine, I said to my editor, when I told him what I’d write about instead.
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