Please Don’t Grab My P*ssy

Unless You’re My Doctor Checking for Cervical Cancer or Someone I’ve Given Permission To Do So

When I was younger, strangers use to touch me a lot. Nothing lewd. People would touch my hair or my face or want to give me a hug. (In fact, I thought this was everyone’s experience until a friend told me, no, this is not something that happens to everyone.)

And when I was living in New York, I would run into this old man while I waited for the N/R train at the Astoria stop. He didn’t speak English, but would always try to talk to me in what I’m assumed was Greek given the area. He had a mustache, floppy white hair, always wore a hat, and dressed in a suit. It was usually brown.

He’d sit next to me while I waited, and he would touch my hair or my arm. He never got on the train. I thought he was just some nice, old man who was maybe a little lonely and looking for people to talk to.

One time he touched my stomach which, I admit, was very unsettling. But being a person who hates conflict (don’t make waves, ladies) and doesn’t like to make people feel bad even when they make me feel bad, I just smiled and scooted away. I thought maybe it was some kind of miscommunication. My mind justified it by assuming he was asking if I was pregnant. (I was a pretty big girl back then.)

Then one day, after getting off the train at the Astoria stop, I walked down the stairs to wait for the bus. It was a sunny day. Beautiful, actually, one of those days you don’t mind a long wait.

I don’t know where he came from, but I turned around and there was the old man. He sees me and starts walking toward me with his arms outstretched, like he’s coming in for a hug, when one arm swings down and a little forward, the palm of his hand facing me. That’s when I realize, he’s about to grab me.

I. Was. Horrified.

Just as he was within grabbing distance, I yelled out, “NO!” And pushed him away. That was the last time the whole random strangers touching me thing was a normal occurrence in my life. I guess the vibe I put out changed from whatever it was that made people comfortable touching me to “Hands off!”

Now I’m not really big with the political correctness. My friends and I tend to make some pretty bad, off-color jokes.

And I do believe boys will be boys. I’ve even overheard some lewd conversations. (A guy I was dating several years ago butt-dialed me from a bachelor party. It was quite interesting the things I heard about the dancers and even myself. But boys will be boys, and he and I laughed about it later.)

But joking about sexual assault, that’s not boys will be boys. This isn’t even about being offended. This is about right and wrong.

Think about your mother, your sister, your girlfriend, your wife, your daughter, your aunt — think about any woman you respect and love… And then think about some guy, star or not, joking about grabbing her, or worse, actually walking up and grabbing her.

It’s not OK. And it definitely doesn’t feel OK. It feels horrifying. It feels invasive. It feels degrading and demeaning.

2005 was a long time ago. And I believe, people can grow and change and become better than they were yesterday, even Donald Trump.

But if he’s a better man today than he was 11 years ago, then holy shit. What must he have been like before? Because the man I see today continues to insult and degrade. (Like that Rosie O’Donnell comment during the debate a couple weeks ago was necessary. Or is his claim that he’s changed for the better thanks to his travels in the last two weeks?)

Sadly, I think the people who’ve been OK with his words and actions up to this point aren’t suddenly put off by this newest bit of grossness. But I would appreciate all those who think what he says and how he acts is OK to be very upfront about it.

Maybe y’all can self-identify somehow... Maybe with, I don’t know, some kind of badge (you know, like you think the Jews, oops, Muslims should)?

Then I can more easily know who to stay away from.