When I run, I typically wear two sports bras to keep the girls in check. However, I've recently discovered one I can wear solo that does a fairly good job. The only hitch? It doesn't hold items as well as a double stack of sports bras. (My ability to carry things unseen in my bras recently won me the nickname Poppins - as in Mary - as in her big ol' bag of goodies)
So when I was running up Columbus last night to meet my friend Kate and give her an official (AKA boozy) welcome to New York, I was constantly feeling above my right boob to make sure my keys hadn't slipped.
Now, if I'd been running on the LES or in Midtown or UES I would have fully expected that a quick movement could easily be interpreted by a pervert as me groping myself. I did not expect any reaction on the UWS - afterall, aren't people supposed to be more sophisticated up there?
Much to my surprise, the perfect storm arrived as I stalled by a Windstar during a red light: my Taylor Swift running playlist was between songs, I did a key check and I was jogging in place next to a minican driving moron. And this is what I heard...
Yeah, you like that, huh? Feel anything good in there? I bet you do. Melons. Giant melons.
Seriously, if what I have to look forward to is a man who forces a minivan on me, then harasses a sweaty girl on the UWS, referring to her chest as melons, I'll just stay single thank you very much. The dude could at least have just kept those thoughts up in his brain.