So there I was, minding my own business yesterday walking around Kampala town running errands and I stop to grab a boda when this Traffic Police Woman stops me and below is our conversation
TPW: That gentleman over there wants to speak to you. He says he knows you.
(I look over and there is a Traffic Police Man standing under a shade)
Me: Ok. (I walk over to say hi, just in case I know him)
TPM: Do you know me?
TPM: How are you? (and other niceties)
TPW: (walks up behind me and says in Luganda) What happens when the wind blows your dress up? What shall we see?
(I was wearing a free, just above the knees dress. It really wasn’t short at all. I didn’t even get heckled by bodas)
Me: The lining of the dress?
TPW: (shows me an article in the paper about a special hire driver infected with HIV who has been raping his fares) You bring these things on yourselves by wearing such short dresses.
(At this point, I just turned and walked away.)
I want to know when I became responsible for what goes in a man’s pants. When was it decided that I should not be comfortable because some asshole can not keep his fucking dick in his fucking pants? AAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!