Much More a Missus Than a Mrs.

I was biking in heels and a gold scarf the other day. Maybe not such a common occurence in Montreal. You see a lot of men in suits but women in heels? And it was a Thursday afternoon and I was in NDG – not exactly the financial district of the city.

I’m used to not paying attention to people when I’m biking. Paying attention to traffic, cars skidding through stop signs, Outremont’s tall hat-wearing population of minivans not slowing down as I barely make it past them – yes. Always. that’s life and death. But the people themselves I usually ignore. It’s a good thing because the other day after biking to my old apartment at 6:30 in the morning to wait for the internet guy to come (he came at 2…) I realized I’d dragged myself straight out of bed and into a fluffy sweater that was perfect in the morning but less than perfect by the time it was 30 degrees celcius and sunny and I wanted to bike home. Under this fluffy sweater was a fairly transluscent white tanktop that was perfect for napping on old apartment couches but horrible for modesty. Note to self: travel with more bras or lightweight sweaters…

Anyway, the point is that I got home fast…It sure makes you pedal faster when you’re feeling a little self-conscious.

So the other day when I was all dolled up and properly supported chest-wise and biking in my gold scarf and heels, a man yelled out to me from his truck:

“Mrs.” And that was all…

I ignored him because it was obviously some kind of catcall, but it didn’t make sense. My second though was that maybe he was from Newfoundland and was trying to say “Missus” but had been living in Montreal too long and the word had adapted to “Mrs.” but even then it didn’t make sense because it wasn’t followed by anything. He didn’t seem to want me to stop. His car wasn’t broken down, he didn’t have a flat tire.

And I’m certainly not a “Mrs.” I’ve gotten used to being called Missus by Newfoundlanders and it’s usually said in an endearing way unless you’re on George Street in St. John’s and some annoying guy is trying to push his way past you to the bar and says, “Missus, I seen a whale smaller’n you. Get yar’arse outta da way.” But no one would say “Mrs.” That’s supposed to be respectful. Even in heels and gold, I do not look like a married woman on her bicycle.

So, trucker, I don’t understand what you were trying to say. Thanks for the potentially complimentary catcall, but hollering at a married woman is not a good idea anyway. And hollering at a single one incorrectly is probably worse. Hope you get it right next time.