Men yelled out their car windows at me yesterday. Twice.

No, I don’t think it’s because I am exceedingly attractive or warrant that type of attention ever (I mean, who wants to be cat called from a passing vehicle?), but it was strange to experience more than once in a day.

The first time, I had just finished going into the bank and was walking out to my car. I spent a majority of the day outside, so I was tired, sweaty and gross. And lo and behold, when I was opening my car door, a guy (who couldn’t have been older than 16) leaned out the window of his friend’s beat-up Taurus and yelled, “Baby, your man is lucky because you’re beautiful!”

As they drove by, I waved. (What else can you do, really?)

The second time happened when Lucy and I were taking our nightly walk. We were about to cross the busy street that runs on the outer edge of the apartment complex to get into the surrounding neighborhood and this guy slowed his truck while turning on the road to say, “Beautiful dog.”

I said, “Thanks,” as he sped by then praised Lucy for being such a pretty dog.

“What does this all mean?” you ask.

In my home, we don’t allow anything BUT beautiful. Obvs.