Yesterday, waiting for my ride, I stood on the corner of La Salle and 9th Street in downtown Minneapolis and played with my new camera cell phone doodad. I’ve never had one before last week and I’m enthralled with the instant gratification of snapping and there’s your picture (better than polaroid!) — I can spend hours taking pixelated pictures of my foot, the wall, the carpet, etc.
I was looking skyward, framing a particularly boring shot of the top of a building, when 2 women and a man walked by. One of the women stopped beside me and looked up where I was looking. Then she said, “You can take a picture much better from this angle,” squatted low to the ground, and thrust her widish bottom waaay out towards my crotch.
She was about an inch and a half away from molesting me.
She stood up and laughed and walked off, and her friends laughed, and I laughed. I wish now that I had taken a picture of her ass. But that might have been me harrassing her (no pun intended). More importantly, though, taking her picture might have led to more interaction or conversation with a woman who was obviously insane. And then, too, I would have had a picture of her butt on my cell phone. Nobody wants that.
I felt kinda dirty afterward. But I was asking for it. You should have seen the tight jeans I was wearing.