A recent compliment didn’t come in words so much as a whistle. I’m not gonna lie, flattery just feels great as long as it’s genuine. Telling me, you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen falls flat because I’m sure that is simply just not true. Telling me, “I’m really inspired by your dedication to fitness” or “you are rocking that dress” means so much more because there is thought behind it. A truth that the other person wants you to know and took time out of their day to share with you. That’s important.
But totally superficially, I was walking downtown yesterday and two, twenty-ish boy/men were in a car stopped at a stop light. I was aware of them because I’m a woman walking by myself and all women are aware of men in packs when you are by yourself. When the light turned green and they were driving past me, one of them whistled at me. The feminist in me took a nap. It thrilled me and I had a big cheesy smile on my face and I had zero cares. Occasionally, I feel like such an old lady and well past my prime and then BAM!, whistling. It was glorious and such a little thing and it made my whole dang day.