I like to consider myself a City girl, a street-wise girl, a girl who instinctively would fight back if, say, the Boogeyman should choose to jump out and get her.
Apparently not.
Yesterday while walking to the train on a major street, surrounded by people, my phone rings. It’s Train Guy seeing if I’m taking the 5:06 home. Yes, I say, and then we proceeded to talk for a few minutes. As we’re talking about the fact that moments earlier I had run into Kid Rock’s twin “brother” on the street (I swear it was his twin, minus the money, fame, singing and Pamela Anderson) someone grabs me from behind and holds on.
Did I pull away? No. Did I yell for help? No. Did I reach around and stab my fingers in his/her eyes? No. Did I try to turn around to kick the person squarely in the crotch? No. Fight back in any way, shape or form? No.
What did I do? I squeal like a little girl who saw a spider crawling up her leg and hunch over. And what’s even more embarrassing/humiliating/pathetic/ridiculous is that as I’m squealing – NOT screaming, People, SQUEALING, I realize it’s Train Guy, he’s laughing, people are staring and I am mortified.
Kind of scary to think that had it been the Boogeyman I would probably be dead. So much for being a tough girl.