Today Jen and I took our four kids up to the Hands On Children’s Museum in Olympia. Then to the park, hot dogs, organic coffee, the fabric store, ice cream. A day built around (mostly) what the kids want to do yet in such a way as parents could enjoy too. Homemade snacks, lots of play, sunshine and rain, great grownup conversation, and some four-way bickerfests from the progeny in the two backseats of the minivan (no one child was immune to asshattery today but I’m proud to say the moms held up pretty well).
At the park today some fool in a group of fools wolf-whistled me as I walked though the grass to collect the kids. He had to do it a couple times because he had a really undeveloped, airy whistle. Seriously? I mean don’t bring that shit if you can’t even get it done. And note: the group of guys housing the whistler (who’d made appreciative grunts or whatever) were silent on my return trip past them, because I had kids with me. Awww yeah. Because a woman ain’t worth hitting on unless you’re doing it with creepy intent, surely not for children to witness.
Dr. Sophie Hogaboom:
Shopper & Chef Nels Hogaboom:
You know what’s important? Coffee.
Today: yards and yards and yards of fabric for a practice skirt for bellydancing. & now Ralph cooks dinner: Sesame Chicken Pasta Salad, Asparagus with a Parmesan Crust, and Lemon Pepper Baked Zucchini.
So, that all works out.
Wolf Whistles? Those make my face burn. I’m so glad you’re not like me. And would you please share the asparagus recipe?!
Great. Now I’m going to have to do a search to find out the origin of the wolf-whistle because you got me thinking about it. My guess is that it started in some type of “theater” atmosphere as a substitute for applause. How it managed to spill out into the streets as a way to express your “appreciation” for a woman’s good looks is beyond me. I can’t imagine getting a positive response very often, and even if a girl did respond in a “friendly” way, do you really want to associate with a woman that answers to a whistle?
For purposes of full disclosure, I must admit that I wolf-whistle at my wife all the time, but it’s hardly the same thing. She already knows I’m a cad.
Here’s the recipe and here’s a picture. It was all very delicious.
if a girl did respond in a â€œfriendlyâ€ way, do you really want to associate with a woman that answers to a whistle?
No slut-shaming in my blogspace, sport! 😉
Anecdotally, my father used a corny line on my mother when they met in a bar; three days later they were living in sin. Were together 35 years before he died. To a trollop and a cad I owe my existence.
My husband goes for more direct and physical expressions than whistling. When he’s not terrified of me. I think I’m like a black widow spider in his mind. A sexy, deadly, cranky, titsy spider.
If I offended any sluts, I humbly apologize as this was not my intention. I have nothing but respect for trollop-americans.
“I’m a trollop and I vote!” (bumper sticker)
Ohh, the dud dude whistle, coupled with the “oh shit, I’m a douche” realization. No doubt that guy’s sitting at the back of the wolf classroom right now.
I’ve been trying to find out where they host those classes. I think it’s a secret society because it seems every time I bust open the door on their meeting place they scatter like cockroaches, leaving just the whiff of Axe Body spray behind.
(just kidding, Axe. No I’m not. Or am I? No I’m not.)