Today was a quiet morning, and although I'm feeling much better after staying home all day yesterday, I still didn't run today. I don't want to push it. I had my final Politics class this afternoon, and my second to last Music class; I can't believe how fast this time has gone. So wonderful, and so eye-opening, and I'm so excited to return to what I know and have new appreciation for it now.
Tonight, after dinner, I was sitting at the table chatting with Carlos about the differences between men and women here in Spain. I mentioned that it bothers me when I get hollered at in the streets. He explained that that's a normal way for a man to express his attraction to a woman, which I understand, but I still think it is highly inappropriate. I don't whistle at attractive men, so please, don't whistle at a woman. Treat me as more than a damn object, you asshole.
What's worse than one man, I expressed as our conversation continued, is a group of men. I told Carlos about one night that I was out at a club here in Córdoba in October and I was in front of a group of boys in the entry line. I had forgotten that I didn't share this story here in the blog or with my mom until she came to visit, so now, especially following tonight's conversation, I think is the perfect time to share it. It goes like this.
In Preshco, we have conversation partners who are trying to learn English. We meet up with them at our own free will and speak to each other in opposite languages. My conversation partner is a nice guy named Alex who works at Mansull, a discoteca here in Córdoba at night and goes to the University during the day. I was waiting in line one night to meet Alex, who was already inside, and there was a group of young Spanish men (boys) behind me. I was alone, but about to meet up with Alex. One of these men reached out and grabbed my butt. I whipped around and immediately asked, all in Spanish, which of them it was. They all laughed and said "Someone was touching you? No!" This happened two more times, both times with me turning around and shouting "No me toques!" (Don't touch me!). On the fourth time, instead of just turning around and yelling, I grabbed the wrist attached to the hand on my butt, whipped around, and smacked the arm's owner square in the face, and hard too. I think the boys were surprised, but it ended the whole episode. I never anticipated hitting anyone in my life, but in this circumstance, and hopefully never in another circumstance of a similar nature, I think it was entirely warranted. American men maybe be a bit more difficult to read, but at least they generally have respect for women as more than sexual objects. I know the males that I associate myself with would never treat a woman like those guys did.
So that's my story. Its nothing that happened today, but it was part of my conversation with Carlos after dinner, so I think sharing it was as warranted as my slapping a man. Carlos thought my slap was entirely legitimate, too. I hope it felt legitimate on that dude's face, too. I was angry and put some effort into it.
Ok... well. I'm not really sure how to write an eloquent transition out of that story and segue onto writing about my plans for tomorrow... I'm getting up early to go to an Olive Festival somewhere near Jaén. It's olive harvesting season here. Yum. And it is also late here. That is all. Adios.
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