I tell him these stories about my experience as a woman going about the world and he can never BELIEVE it — this idea that people will just, as I put it, traverse the chasm of individual personhood and feel the need/perogative to COMMENT on you and how you are going about your life —and I was resigned to the fact that he would never really witness it. How could he be with me at the same time I was in the world alone with myself? How can someone you love, someone who is part of your subjectivity, ever really experience you as other people do?
I love this story. Also, seriously fuck those dude bikeswarmers. I always think of them — especially the ones who ride their expensive bikes in full lycra in Prospect Park on the weekends and are palpably annoyed by everyone who’s not going full Tour de France-speed — as “the lawyers.” (I have zero evidence that any of them are lawyers, but that’s how I think of them.)