Few things scare me as much as a group of teenagers do. I am 35 and strong and sure but a group of fifteen-year-old boys makes my heart palpitate.

It’s not hard to imagine why. I was a fat-enough teenager and I was, in my own way, a bad ass. I still spent most of my young-adult life waiting for SOMEONE, anyone, to make a smart ass comment about my body. When I look back I want to slap little Girthful Girl and tell her that she’s gorgeous. But because I had a healthy dose of bad-ass buzzing around my fluffy self, I was always ready with a counter attack. I rarely had to do it, but I was ready. 

I’m still a bad ass, but last week I was blindsided by a group of 5 or 6 teens. Were they in 9th grade? 11th? Not sure. But it was a Monday night and I was happily almost home when the group approached from the other direction. One of the boys started laughing and the whole group started in. As we passed, me-alone and looking fierce in polka dots—the instigator of the group lunged toward me as if to grab me. I froze in fear—and then I ran. And they laughed. 

I am angry that I felt unsafe on my block. I am angry that I left myself be so unnerved. I am angry that these mean teens will turn into mean adults. 

Today I was waiting outside my building for Golda to pick my up. I’d taken a Zumba class earlier in the day and I was wearing a cute dress. I was feeling happy. And right before Golda pulled up, two boys (possibly two from the Monday-night group) walked past and started hooting “sexy” while laughing themselves silly. 

Fuck them. Golda picked me up and we went on a tour of the Y and checked out their lovely pool and then sat outside in the sun drinking iced tea and splitting an outrageously weird and good plate of chicken and waffles.

Jerk-ass teenagers—beware. I’m happy to be crass and tell you to suck it.