I'm about to pack a baboon's lunch, if you know what I mean.

I have been walking the dogs almost every morning in an effort to live more healthily in my new town,
and hopefully, even gain a little muscle tone to my once shapely legs.

One thing I am shocked to experience on my otherwise lovely daily walks is cat calls from male passers-by.

Yes, old-fashioned cat calls.
As in whistles, comments and rude grunting noises.

I don't believe I have been whistled at, or "woo-hooed",
for that matter, by someone I didn't know, in about one million years.
Even then, it was almost purely in jest.

I'm not sure what is making these small town fellas act like cavemen.
Perhaps, they didn't get a chance to attend the mandatory sexual harassment video seminar at the factory.
Perhaps, the concept of sexual harassment is new to them.
Either way, I'm not sure I know how I feel about getting commented on.
Even if it IS a compliment.

For example, as I was crossing the street yesterday , an elderly black gentleman
on a beautiful, old, red, Schwinn bicycle, with a big antique wicker basket attached to the handlebars
came wheeling toward me. He had a huge smile on his face and the sun was shining on his chrome.
I thought to myself, what a great photo that would be and what happy man he seemed to be.

As he got closer to me he said.... get this;
"Hey! You're packin'! I see why you need those dogs to protect you...'cause you're packin', baby!"

I was stunned. This is not what I expected him to say. I expected "Good morning..." or maybe even "Hi."
But not, "Hey! You're packin".
I was confused.
Although flattered to be packin', I was a wee bit offended that he assumed I'd like someone commenting on my figure.

Oh well, and down the street I went....

One block down from where I was allegedly packin',
a construction crew was moving a home from another location and lowering it down onto a new foundation.
This is the sort of thing that takes great concentration.
So, imagine my surprise, when the guy operating the crane stops to wave and smile.
Well, that was nice, but jeez dude...shouldn't you be lowering the house with full attention?
About then, the rest of the crew that was apparently, only seconds before, hidden from my line of sight,
came pouring out from around the side of the building and whistling at me, "hey babying" me,
and one even grabbed his crotch and heart at the same time, making a face like he was in pain.

Amazing.
What a display.

I smiled a smart-ass smile and tried to get the heck out of there as fast as possible.
It is at this point, of course that Lilly decides to take a huge poop.
It seemed to take forever for her BM to occur, and I could feel them looking at me whole time.

I mean, what the heck?
What is their deal?
I have on no make-up and I'm picking up poop with a plastic Kroger bag.
Yes, real attractive.
Did I forget to wear pants or something?
Nope. Jeans are in place and fastened.
Is my shirt see-through?
No. Still a thick white cotton tee.
Is there a hot chick standing behind me?
No. Not a soul.

Whatever.
Those guys must have just gotten out of prison.
I knew they would be there again today so I decided to walk the dogs in the other direction.
Towards the fancy houses.

Well, guess what.
The fancy boys did it too.
Twice, from their fancy cars.

I really don't know what is going on here.
Is it a Paducah custom? An acceptable sort of greeting around these parts?
Or are they cavemen?
Just crude and crass and they don't give a rat's ass if they are behaving like baboons?

Or is it ....well, I suppose.....maybe it is
that I am, in fact, mighty fine
and my new lifestyle,sans bar hopping until 3am
is agreeing with me.

Maybe I am the hottest thing these country boys have ever seen.
Maybe I am getting better looking with age and the walking has already whipped my body into
irresistible shape.
Maybe I'm the big deal I always thought I was.....yeah, maybe they can't help themselves when in the presence of a goddess....

Nah.
On second thought, these men are baboons.