The Internal Dialogue of a Woman Being Cat Called

Here’s the deal, men. If you cat call me at any point during the ten days before my period, I will look at you with venom in my eyes.

“SAY IT AGAIN, ASSHOLE, NO REALLY, I DARE YOU. SAY. IT. AGAIN. I WILL COME OVER THERE AND REACH THROUGH THE CAR WINDOW AND SNAP YOUR NECK. HOW DARE YOU SEXUALIZE ME OR MAKE IT KNOWN THAT YOU CONSIDER ME AN ATTRACTIVE WOMAN. I WILL THROW A MOTHER EFFING BRICK THROUGH THE WINDSHIELD. I WILL GRAB YOU BY THE EARS AND DEMAND TO KNOW ‘WHO. RAISED. YOU.’ YOU LOW CLASS CLOWN.”

If you cat call me any other time of the month I will look at you with the aforementioned stare of ice-venom. However, the internal dialogue is quite different.

“Damn straight. I still got it. I’m a sexy ass bitch. The essence of my womanhood causes men to spontaneously erupt in sound. I. am. a. goddess.”

But, dear sir, you will never know what’s going on in my head. You’re not the kind of man I would ever allow in my head (or soul, or body).