Today I was followed by a group of guys yelling RUBIA RUBIA; they hissed between their teeth and made one-sided conversation with by backside. They of course disappeared after I ignored them for a few blocks. Either that, or they realized I was on my way to the police station to turn in my foreign residence papers. Its never a good idea to stalk a girl on her way to the police station.
It happened again tonight while we were walking home from the bar. An older emborrachado man stumbled along side us mumbling and grumbling in his drunken Castellano lisp something about la rubia, que bella. Duh I ignored him and finally wondered off after he told us we were boring. Uh not boring. Rude.
The fourth time happened in front of Zara on a beautifully lit pedestrian shopping area. The group of us girls walked passed a young guy talking to an older man when it happened again. Something like a whistle and EH RUBIA! echoed off the stone walls. But when I didnt respond, this guy didnt take it so well. He tossed a small rock at me, hitting me in the ankle of my leather Tory Burch boots. Oh no. Not Okay senor. I dont take shit from a Spanish man half my size. I turned around and glared at him and continued on to my flat.
I have been persecuted for being too blonde. Stoned. Punished. Followed by teens and a drunk. Hissed at, stared at, winked at and smiled at. a millisecond of flattery switches to embarrassment and frustration. leave me in peace while my hair sparkles under the street lamp. Let my locks blow where they will. Yes, its natural. No, Im not Britney Spears. And No, You Can Not Touch It.