‘Tis the season for creepy men following you down the street ‘just to talk’!

Don’t you love spring?

The Tab

Spring is my favorite season. The sun comes out and so do my sour cream-colored legs. You know what else comes out? My pepper spray because it's impossible to walk 500 feet in my neighborhood without some man yelling about how he wants to get my face pregnant.

And before you get hashtag not all men on me, let me hit you with hashtag YES ALL WOMEN. It doesn't matter if we're wearing a sweat-stained t-shirt that we sometimes use as a dish towel when we're feeling extra lazy (not that I've ever done that), or a cute sundress that makes us feel like a 90s teen queen, or a thonged bodysuit with no pants: we're gonna get harassed.

I wore this to spin class and a man said he hopes I have a "thick vagina"

I wore this to spin class and a man said he hopes I have a "thick vagina"

Sure, we have men yelling about how they wanna lick our feet during the winter too, but it's definitely less prevalent as we're bundled up in enough outerwear to fill a Burlington Coat Factory — remember that place?

Ask any woman, though, and I think we could all come together in agreement that the worst catcalls aren't the disgustingly graphic ones about eating ass or whatever. The worst street harassment is when the dude thinks he's being nice and persistent, calling us "beautiful" and saying that he "just wants to get to know" us. Those are always the guys who end up following us down the street, right?! And they've got a response to everything:

"Sorry, I have a boyfriend."

"What, your boyfriend doesn't let you have friends?"

Leave me and my regular-sized vagina alone, pls

Leave me and my regular-sized vagina alone, pls

NOT TODAY, SATAN. It's almost obnoxious enough to force me back into pants, which is really saying something because I hate clothes so much I immediately start shedding them the second I walk through my front door, leaving an outfit trail piece-by-piece from the threshold to my bed.

Basically, we have three options: We can wear pants and let the disgusting heat drip sweat down the backs of our legs so we become forever welded to our jeans, we can just suck it up, or we can actually murder them. Personally, I'm partial to number three.

Dead men can't catcall.