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hathycolI went to St Andrews on Saturday after all. Admittedly the drive consisted of sort of crawling in and out the car when I needed to, and when I did turn up I sort of fell on the sofa and demanded affection and food and sleep. Recieved them, back eased up overnight, the world was a happier place.
So on Sunday, Richie and I went out for some food, beating the Open crowds by half an hour and then went to the Byre which was oddly quiet and we had some drinks and listened to a good blues band. It was a pleasant evening.
What I would not normally list in these activities is what I wore, but on this occasion I need to. You see, I wore a skirt. It was with a t-shirt, and a pair of blue tights, and this is not an unusual outfit for me as in the summer I embrace skirts and the chance to show off my unsusually coloured tights collection.
The band plays. Richie and I drink our drinks, and chat, and it was really lovely. The band takes a break, and an older woman comes over to me.
"I'm sorry, I just have to tell you that your skirt is too short!"
I protested mildly that I was wearing tights. As a side note, I was also wearing voluminous knickers, as I go for comfort and bright colours in my underwear choices, as a rule. Even had I ripped off my skirt and tights, all people would have seen were some bright Primark pants.
Although I was upset and offended, I kept on doing the "Right, okay," line to make her go away as she continued to protest that my skirt was too short. I refused to pull it down even slightly, and just hoped she would go away.
Instead, she leaned forward, took hold of the hemline and started to tug my skirt down, protesting that she was just "being mumsy" and doing it "for my own good."
I freaked out slightly, she went away. It is to my eternal credit that I didn't punch her lights out, frankly. I was then sat there, stunned, contemplating what had just happened.
a. I was in a bar, wearing a skirt that yes, was short, but not obscene.
b. she had not only slut-shamed me, a stranger, in public, but had dared to lay a hand on me with my boyfriend sat right next to me.
As I had drank a few drinks, I decided the sensible thing to do was to phone my mother. Obviously. A combination of Mum and Richie calmed me down, although Mum did suggest walking back in and telling her (I quote) "You can fuck right off, and incidentally my mother is at least fifteen years younger than you."
Everyone I've spoken to is horrified by this, and rightly so. I'm genuinely very upset, not only that a stranger saw fit to comment on my dress in public but also to dare to lay her hands on me to correct what she saw as my incorrect type of clothing. I have every right to wear whatever I want, whether that's a mini-skirt or a burqa. If I had actually been flashing her my vagina all night, she would have had a point that it was in some way offensive (and that's debatable) but since all she saw were my legs that were covered in sixty denier then I am confused.
She had no right to insinuate that I looked in some way shameful in my mini-skirt. I have a great set of pins, it's fashionable, and I will wear what the damn hell I want. I will be judged by my actions, not by my clothes, and I will not be made me feel ashamed by anyone who feel they have a right to judge me and to touch me just because they do not like what I am wearing.
... how was your weekend?
So on Sunday, Richie and I went out for some food, beating the Open crowds by half an hour and then went to the Byre which was oddly quiet and we had some drinks and listened to a good blues band. It was a pleasant evening.
What I would not normally list in these activities is what I wore, but on this occasion I need to. You see, I wore a skirt. It was with a t-shirt, and a pair of blue tights, and this is not an unusual outfit for me as in the summer I embrace skirts and the chance to show off my unsusually coloured tights collection.
The band plays. Richie and I drink our drinks, and chat, and it was really lovely. The band takes a break, and an older woman comes over to me.
"I'm sorry, I just have to tell you that your skirt is too short!"
I protested mildly that I was wearing tights. As a side note, I was also wearing voluminous knickers, as I go for comfort and bright colours in my underwear choices, as a rule. Even had I ripped off my skirt and tights, all people would have seen were some bright Primark pants.
Although I was upset and offended, I kept on doing the "Right, okay," line to make her go away as she continued to protest that my skirt was too short. I refused to pull it down even slightly, and just hoped she would go away.
Instead, she leaned forward, took hold of the hemline and started to tug my skirt down, protesting that she was just "being mumsy" and doing it "for my own good."
I freaked out slightly, she went away. It is to my eternal credit that I didn't punch her lights out, frankly. I was then sat there, stunned, contemplating what had just happened.
a. I was in a bar, wearing a skirt that yes, was short, but not obscene.
b. she had not only slut-shamed me, a stranger, in public, but had dared to lay a hand on me with my boyfriend sat right next to me.
As I had drank a few drinks, I decided the sensible thing to do was to phone my mother. Obviously. A combination of Mum and Richie calmed me down, although Mum did suggest walking back in and telling her (I quote) "You can fuck right off, and incidentally my mother is at least fifteen years younger than you."
Everyone I've spoken to is horrified by this, and rightly so. I'm genuinely very upset, not only that a stranger saw fit to comment on my dress in public but also to dare to lay her hands on me to correct what she saw as my incorrect type of clothing. I have every right to wear whatever I want, whether that's a mini-skirt or a burqa. If I had actually been flashing her my vagina all night, she would have had a point that it was in some way offensive (and that's debatable) but since all she saw were my legs that were covered in sixty denier then I am confused.
She had no right to insinuate that I looked in some way shameful in my mini-skirt. I have a great set of pins, it's fashionable, and I will wear what the damn hell I want. I will be judged by my actions, not by my clothes, and I will not be made me feel ashamed by anyone who feel they have a right to judge me and to touch me just because they do not like what I am wearing.
... how was your weekend?
