Dear Dudebro,

Listen, I get it. The light at University and Main is astonishingly long. You have your window rolled down, there's nothing good on the radio, and you're tapping your thumbs absentmindedly on the steering wheel in boredom. You glance out the window lackadaisically, and there I am: a woman, walking down the sidewalk, probably not even smiling. Before you open your mouth to give me your commentary on my body, might I suggest--no, implore--you to consider the following alternative courses of action:

1. Change the radio station until you find Beyoncé.

There's honestly nothing I could write in this essay that Lemonade doesn't say better, so you might as well take the masterclass right now.

2. Ask Siri who bell hooks is.

3. Then ask Siri why she's not a feminist.

Suspicious.

Then ask yourself why you aren't one.

4. Shout out...literally anything else.

Look, I'm not here to judge. Maybe you have a very specific medical condition that means you have to yell things to strangers at this particular stoplight. I'm a COM major. What do I know? But instead of "Nice (fill-in-the-blank-with-part-of-my-body)" why don't you yell out some digits of pi? Or all the lyrics to Bohemian Rhapsody you memorized in 9th grade. Or the Pledge of Allegiance in Pig Latin. C'mon. Impress me.

5. Ask yourself this.

Would literally any successful couple you know would answer the question, "So how'd you guys meet?" with "Well, I was walking down the sidewalk and he yelled at me from his car, and from then on, I knew it was forever." No? Can't see it? Then maybe this isn't the best way for you to approach women. Just a thought.



At this point, dearest dudebro, hopefully the light has changed. If it hasn't, maybe you ought to write your city council representative (harass them, not me!). In any case, I'm glad we had this talk. I usually don't get a chance to shout back.

Nice tank, by the way.

XOXO,

Still Not Smiling