Stranger Danger

On Sunday night, I was leaving my apartment with my boyfriend & best friend to see Bridesmaids. As we rounded the stairs, I saw a delivery guy on the landing. He was staring up at me with this really creepy look. I averted my eyes and kept moving down the stairs. He said, "Kristen?" I kept walking as I am not Kristen nor do I know one in the building.

Outside, Jason told me that ignoring the creepy man in my building was rude. Now, seeing as Jason has lived in the bucolic, mild-mannered town of Princeton for the past five years, I decided to educate him. "Dear, it's generally my policy not to engage with skeevy strangers in my stairwell," I said, "as both a woman and a New Yorker, you're going to have to trust me."

I wish that were the end of the conversation. Jason said it upset him to see me being rude as I was such a warm, loving person. I said, "Do you really want me to be warm and loving with strange men!?"

And then he did something totally out of the ordinary - he pouted. He pouted all the way to the movie theater, in front of my best friend. It was quite strenuous for me to carry the conversation and attempt to work around his mood. Finally, midway through the movie, he gave me a squeeze.

After the film, my best friend (wisely) departed, and Jason and I made our way home. The first thing out of his mouth: I'm sorry I called you rude.

Thank you!

I explained to him that I don't want to have the type of relationship where we correct each other's behavior. We are two individuals, operating in two separate spheres, and we can't attempt to control one another's actions. I'm going to act in a manner that makes me feel comfortable as a single woman living in Manhattan. He's going to need to understand that - especially as I am moving UP UPtown in a few months to an area that is decidedly less safe. Excuse me if I don't embrace the random men who call out women's names as I pass.

This also makes me a bit nervous for Italy. The last time I was there, I was sixteen. While packed on a bus in Rome, an old man shoved his hand up my shorts and into my underwear. To say I have misgivings about going back to Rome is an understatement. I've mollified myself with the knowledge that I am a seasoned New Yorker now, and I can take care of myself. I don't know how I'll react if Jason isn't supportive of the lengths I take for a feeling of security.

While Jason feels better after talking with me, I'm still a bit peeved. He brought it up again this morning. That makes the third time we've discussed this in as many days. I knew dating the son of therapists would have it's special challenges, but this feels a bit excessive. It feels as if he's undermining my intelligence and experience level. Why not trust my actions and give me the benefit of the doubt?

I called the one woman I knew would understand - my mother. She was a model in the city when she was a bit younger than me, and when she was my age, she put her long, shiny blonde hair in a high ponytail on top of her head, and cut it off just below the elastic. She dyed it brown. Anything to stop the attentions of men, she said.

While I won't go to those extremes, I certainly dress in my version of armour. Only recently have I felt assertive enough to wear sweeter pieces. I don't want that power subverted by my boyfriend's idea of 'manners'.

My mother said to tell him, "Pretty women have walls. They have to."

I hope he understands - because I won't say it again.

*scorpio*