Getting hit on by a stranger is like a box of chocolates, particularly if you’re diabetic and the chocolates come from some dark Willy-Wonka-esque factory where anthropomorphized candy wants to palm your boobs like a goofy toddler learning how to play basketball. When you’re a woman with a face, there be dragons behind every free drink and off-the-cuff compliment. When you’re a woman, you’re rarely the one clicking your tongue and thanking God for “dat ass.” Now why is that?
Women don’t catcall because women can’t catcall. Yes, there are other mitigating factors — namely that catcalling is gross and tacky and about as sexy as pulling a bone-dry, super-sized tampon out of one’s vagina — but we won’t pretend that we wouldn’t like to plop down on a public bench every once and awhile and share our appreciation for a passerby’s human form. It’s just that our metaphors and innuendoes aren’t there yet. We haven’t even mastered the wolf whistle. Watch as the extremely funny ladies of Small Medium Tall prove our point. Ladies: just sit down and swipe right.