Hold The Phone.

I am sitting at Caribou right now and I feel the need to blog. Strap in cause it's gonna be a whiny one too - mostly because it's Saturday morning and I'm upset that I'm being productive and not disgustingly hungover.

Dear dudes who check out chick's butt's and think we don't notice,

You know who you are. Don't deny it. I see you, and despite my glares and mouth agape at your inconspicuousness and lack of class, you just keep on staring, which compels me to write this letter, you dirty old man.

Here's what you did.

You're over at the end of the counter waiting for your drink and a young girl in jeans was standing at the register ordering. Evidently, her curves didn't suck. You also noticed this and decided to get a better look. So you backed up and took a few steps to the right to get an unobstructed view, and stared. Just STARED. Your eyes did not move from her ass. I stared at you. I kept staring at you. You didn't notice.

I felt for this girl, she was just standing here in jeans and a sweatshirt, a senior in high school, ordering some coffee, and she became the object of whatever sick fantasy was going on in your dirty old man mind. And you didn't have any decency to hide it.

She walked over closer to you. You kept staring. I kept glaring.

Truth is, I wanted to smack you and tell you you're a sleazebag dill hole, to so obviously lust after a woman that is a solid 30 years younger than you, somebody's daughter, and by the looks of that ass, most likely somebody's mother.

And maybe you think we didn't notice. Maybe you think we can't see what you're doing as you undress her with your eyes and bestow them upon the beauty that will never be yours.

I was once the chick you dirt bags stared at, as most of us were, when I was young and thin and, well, perky. And now, I feel this weird motherly-like protective instinct for women who aren't asking for it and yet become  sex objects under the power of a masochistic gaze.

I have a feeling you don't get it very often.

I have a feeling you have a very small wee-wee.

I have a feeling you aren't much of a man at all. You probably pay for it. You probably pay women to meet the expectations of your self-centered apparitions. It was clear you thought nothing more of her than what she could offer you sexually.

Well dude, we all saw you gawk. And we all know you're a L-7 WEENIE. So, bug off. Perv.

Sincerely,
Early Bird Angry Lady