Grits: Now that I have some, you can kiss 'em

I had grits for breakfast today. They were yummy, but the best part about them is they gave me an excuse for today's blog title. Nothing else I will say will have anything to do with grits. It will have to do with a little feminine attitude, though.

I live in a neighborhood where men in vehicles honk at girls on the sidewalk. I don't mind this, and even took it as the compliment I assumed it was meant to be, until I started getting honks on days when I was schlepping around in house clothes, running little errands before scurrying back indoors. A couple weeks ago, I was lugging this huge comforter to the dry cleaners in a big plastic bag. Surely this sort of thing isn't sexy. But it merited a honk, apparently. I found that disheartening, because it made me think that the honks don't mean, "Hey, you're hot," they just mean, "Hey! You're female!" I kind of knew that already.

And while we're talking about walking around: I try to be a considerate pedestrian. I'm the Queen of the Jaywalkers, but I don't generally run in front of cars, and I acknowledge with a wave whenever a driver stops and waves me across the street. How fast I move depends on who's driving, though. If it's a woman, I'll do that polite little quasi-jog that says, "I know you're in a hurry." If it's a guy, however, sometimes I'll take my time. I figure his reward is getting to watch me pass in front of his car.

Am I wrong?