Sadly, I have been subjected to this kind of harassment before. Once when I was out in the centre of Antwerp with my husband and a couple of friends, one member of a group of men (I use that word in purely a biological sense), saw fit to slap me on the ass so hard it left a bruise. This was done as they walked past us in the middle of the street! As they walked off laughing, I was so incensed that my immediate reaction was to turn around and chase after them, and was stopped only by my husband and one of our friends physically holding me back, obviously fearing for my safety. Still, it was worth it just to see the look of shock on the face of the guy who had hit me. Perhaps the sight of me being restrained made him think I was actually dangerous, rather than just full of adrenaline and seriously pissed off!
One other time when it happened was an occasion very similar to the above footage. Picture the scene. It’s a beautiful day in the height of summer. In a suburb of Anwterp, I have left my husband in the local launderette, while I go to a nearby shop to get some change for the tumble dryers. I am dressed in blue denim shorts, a pink “spaghetti-strap” top and sandals. As I round the corner heading back to the launderette, a purse full of coins in my hand, I see that my husband is standing outside the launderette, leaning against the wall getting some air. Across on the other side of the street is a white van. In it sit two men. Oblivious to the fact that the man leaning against the wall is my husband, the driver of the van – I’ll call him Mr. Feelstrong – leans out of his window and says that I should take my “little shorts off” so that he can “f*ck the ass off me”. I give him the two fingers, gesturing in no uncertain terms as to what I think of his proposal. Mr. Feelstrong responds by shouting that he’ll “get out of this van and teach you some manners”.
By this point, I have reached my husband. I smile, knowingly. He smiles back. Then he looks long and hard at Mr. Feelstrong, before slipping his arm around my waist and pulling me to him. We kiss. Breaking away from me, my husband leans up from the wall and makes as if to cross the street to Mr. Feelstrong. For his part, Mr. Feelstrong looks a little bit pale, and given the speed at which he started the van and drove off, I don’t think he was feeling all that strong anymore.
I have since gotten my revenge on Mr. Feelstrong by putting him in a couple of stories (it doesn’t end well for him), as well as in the piece that you are now doing me the great honour of reading. I guess it just goes to show that you will indeed be acting wisely if you do not annoy the writer…or her husband for that matter.