Sam’s Story

Today I was walking ONE BLOCK from our session hotel in Houston. I was on my way to the Houston Galleria because I had not made my 10,000 steps yet (and just ate like, a million calories in mac and cheese. It is a delicate balance, obvi.) As I was walking, a light blue car pulled up next to me and slowed down.

He said, “Hey!”

I kept walking.

He said, “HEY!”

I kept walking.

He said, “What is your name?”

I said, “No. Stop.”

He said, “No? That is not an answer. What is your name?”

At this point I thought of all of the articles I had read about women “hollering back,” but lost my courage.

I said, “No, stop.” and shook my head.

Mind you, this guy looks like he probably touts himself as a feminist in his circle of friends.

He stops the car, starts shouting at me about my “fucking fat thighs.” and I also hear, “Lose some weight you fucking fat-ass.”

At this point, I’m mad. So I give him the finger and make a b-line to Saks.

He stops the car again and tells me that “I have a fucking fat face.” And more stuff about my weight. Then he speeds off.

I walk to Saks, stand in front of the valet guy, sobbing. The valet guy is clearly TERRIFIED of a crying woman.

And that, my friends, is what it is like to be a woman, walking to a store at 8pm in a well-lit area.