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Posted on the 21 July 2011 by Thefatalfemme @The_Fatal_Femme
If you are in London, you will have gathered that it is raining. Rather hard. Wonderful.
Made even more wonderful by the fact that I use a bicycle as my mode of transportation. For fitness. For the environment. But mainly because I'm skint.
I had just cycled the 5 miles that is my journey home (Chris Hoy a-hoy eh?) and was, inevitably, rather damp. I have intended to buy high-visibility, waterproof over-garments but haven't quite gotten around to it (they're also bloody expensive - but don't tell my mom that, otherwise she'll put another unannounced £30 in my bank!)
Anyway, due to the lack of waterproofs and foolish decision of choosing a white cotton t-shirt from the wardrobe this morning, I looked a litte like a slightly deflated Katie Price when I arrived at my front door.
Yet despite being drenched and cold, I was delighted to see my glorious cherub, Sebastian, sat on the doormat waiting for me (Sebastian is my cat - I will elaborate on his brilliance in due course when I know I can trust you...)
But would you believe it, at this very moment of reuniting between pet and owner, child and mother, Seb and me - a bulldog shows up. Unannounced. To say that this ruined my journey home would be an understatement. Sebastian is a complicated cat and is very rarely pleased to see me. So I was, naturally, disgruntled.
But wait! There is more. I turned slowly to look at the owner who could have dared let this dog cross my path, literally. With a face of disgust I was about to shun both bulldog and pet when he said...
"Bloody hell, you must be cold!"
Well. Of course I was cold. It was raining. I wasn't wearing a coat. Anyone would be cold.
As he walked away I thought to myself about how such a moron could end up living on my street. Still chuntering away to myself, I wiped my feet, took off my helmet and looked in the mirror to see the damage:
- smudged mascara - check
- curly hair - check
- hard nipples - che-WHAT?!?
Ahh right. Shit.
So the bulldog was not a moron.
Just a sexist, derogatory Peter Pervis.
Apparently a woman can't even get wet (ooh matron!) without being sexualised.
"Alright love," I hear you saying, "stop with the feminist quips and get yourself some waterproofs!"
I will. Eventually.
But what can I get to protect me from chauvenistic, letching dogs (both man and pet)?
Does 'The Cycle Surgery' sell pervyproofs? Do they come in high-vis?
I think I may be onto something.
Watch this space...

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