  I dislike crowds. I dislike being appraised by construction workers. These two dislikes converged into one riotous mess as I exited a spa this afternoon during my lunch break.
My colleague Karen and I stepped out onto the sidewalk to find 3,000 labor union members protesting some faceless evil (nothing like getting my nails painted "You're a Pisa Work" to the sounds of men shouting "Die! Die! " in bullhorns). They, of course, stopped mid-protest to offer to father our children, compliment some body part (Why is it that they never point out other attributes such as a perfectly color coordinated ensemble or funky accessories? A "Nice Chanel handbag. Fuschia is SO fall 2004" might actually work. ) and generally stare at us as if we were two Taco Bell chicken Gorditas ambling down the street.
I'm not claiming that we are two hot mamas, as they would probably whistle at a moose with shapely legs, but as there was no high-heeled moose in sight, Karen and I would have to suffice. The next time a gaggle of men visually molests me or yells out what they'd like to do to me and with what Olsen twin, I have figured out how to counteract the smarminess.
I will stop dead in my tracks, turn around, look them square in the eye and ask them, "What would Jesus do? " If you can't stop it, make it creepy and awkward. That's my mantra in life. In other news, I finished my 5K yesterday (Amidst 17,500 people - perhaps I should not willingly participate in such activities if I dislike crowds. No one ever accused me of having common sense. ) with only a few blind people and a chihuahua in a track suit passing me. 
