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" In response to Alice&amp;#039;s posting about getting catcalls, my Granny (god rest her soul) used to say, &amp;quot;When the men stop catcalling, that&amp;#039;s when you should start worrying.&amp;quot; So long as a catcall isn&amp;#039;t crude, I will say they can be boost to your ego. Although depending on who they&amp;#039;re coming from (i.e. cute construction worker vs. creepy, smelly guy on subway), they can also intimidate me a bit. That said, I can remember going out with my girlfriends when I was in my 20s and getting SOOOOO annoyed when dippy guys would hit on us. All I wanted to do was be with my friends and dance and drink. I didn&amp;#039;t want to waste time talking to some dweeb. But oh my, how times have changed... Last Friday night, I found myself getting ready to go out to another Welcome Club event (UPDATE: While I haven&amp;#039;t found &amp;quot;the one&amp;quot; yet, I have discovered a couple of women who share some commonalities with, so I&amp;#039;m finding the events less annoying and more fun). I was invited to go with a group of about 15 women in a limo to go bar-hopping. Now anyone who knows me, knows that this is totally up my alley\u2014always the party girl! But, still, I was hesitant, because it&amp;#039;s not like I know these women SO well. Could I truly cut-loose with them? But I go. And these women can party like nobody&amp;#039;s business. I&amp;#039;m talking shots (lemon drops, kamikazes, you name it), champagne, hurricanes (what the hell are those?). Dancing. On tables. I finally felt like I found a couple of women I could hang with. So I&amp;#039;m dancing in this DOOF-DOOF club (you know, they play that music that goes DOOF, DOOF, DOOF, DOOF). I&amp;#039;m drunk. I&amp;#039;m feeling good, but I&amp;#039;m feeling old, too. As I scanned the dance floor, I saw some really cute young things, and I remembered when I was a cute young thing and I got a little sad. After all, we were a bunch of 30-something women who thought that wearing heels instead of flats was upping the sexy factor. But I did another shot and danced away my sadness and oldness. The next thing you know, some guy\u2014he couldn&amp;#039;t have been older than 25\u2014starts giving me the eye. Now had this guy ever tried to hit on me when I was in my prime, I would&amp;#039;ve given him the cold shoulder. He was a total Guido! Hair gel, gold chains, big muscles stuffed into a skin tight pink shirt. Not my type at all. The guy starts telling me how beautiful I am and to my utter surprise, I&amp;#039;m just eating it up. Then he sees my wedding rings. He says to me in his thick, Guido-y accent: &amp;quot;Yo, you married?! Yo, I give mad props to your husband for having such a beautiful woman.&amp;quot; Dear god, I can&amp;#039;t believe a compliment like this actually boosted my self-esteem. I felt like Miss America! Of course the next morning, while I sipped tea and nursed my hangover, I said to Dan, &amp;quot;I just want you to know some guy gives you &amp;quot;mad props&amp;quot; for having such a beautiful woman.&amp;quot; I looked at him to see if this would fan a flame of jealousy. But not Dan. He just smiled at me. And he said, &amp;quot;Yeah, and you get mad props for being such a hot wife.&amp;quot; I just giggled. He, he! "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.redbookmag.com/love-sex/a3673/i-like-getting-hit-on/>