Today, I walked past some builders (all male) in the street.
I didn’t worry, I didn’t flinch, I didn’t think about whether to make eye contact or not, I didn’t change anything.
I just walked.
This will sound daft to those who don’t experience street harassment, and probably pretty damned surprising to those who do.
I’ve never done that before. Not since I was a kid. Builders are usually the worst. At least, they’re percieved to be the worst.
After a ten months of living in Sheffield, where not one single builder has ever cat-called, whistled, stood in my way, leered or anything else, where I’ve only had three unwanted interactions with any men at all, I’ve started to not worry.
It feels fantastic.
“The mother of his children” – a phrase usually applied to situations in which the positive attributes of a woman in a heterosexual relationship are being considered.
As though the mother – who has generally (though not always) carried the pregnancy to term and then given birth to the damned thing – has nothing to do with it!
Well. If ever I spawn, I will bloody well be refering to “the father of MY children”. So there.