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I saw their mouths move in unheard mutters – ‘’ – and their shoulders start to sway.
From behind, you wouldn’t even know that she’d registered their presence.
Depending on the country, I’ve averted my eyes and refrained from ‘upsetting’ the perpetrator, or I’ve stared back sternly, raised my voice and made sure the surrounding people are aware of my discomfort.
We were both dressed for the July humidity; denim shorts, a thin, loose, sleeveless top, hair tied back, sunglasses over our eyes, umbrella on an arm. I wanted to see what treatment she received from the occasional groups of boys and men that punctuated each corner. As we approached a group, I saw their eyes switch to her body.
I saw them look her up and down, lips stretching into smiles.
The one and only facet of Latino culture I have still not changed my opinions about, because it tapped straight into a core part of my belief system.
Being treated differently, simply because I was female.
How on earth could a grandpa ever think it was socially acceptable to leer at a young woman like that?