Walking down the street in a slightly seedier part of Capitol Hill wearing a short dress and boots. I was attending the latest Helsinki Syndrome shenanigans at a local gallery, excited because I had helped choreograph some bits for them. A car full of youngsters passed by and some young man cat called, “Hey, hey, looking fine, howz it gooooing?” To which I instinctively roared back, “I’m pregnant…that’s how it’s going!”

“Of course you would have yelled back regardless if you were pregnant,” my best friend of 27 years, Courtney, reminded me over the phone this morning. I recalled walking down the street in Longmont, CO with Courtney and getting honked at mercilessly and shouting all sorts of things at the passing cars. Cat calling is so grossly ineffective and it always makes me feel like a piece of meat. Guys are usually shocked if you shout back at them…but they always have the advantage: a moving car. No identity, no need to stop, no hope of really getting much of a reaction. In this instance, I don’t look pregnant from the back so I doubt they would have shouted at me if they had known (young guys typically shirk from pregnant women). But it was shocking to me how quickly some sort of tigress spirit reared up inside: hell no, I’m not being objectified while I’m carrying another living being. Save it for another lady, buddy. This pregnant chick is taken…