The shorts I never want to wear again

So, I thought I had this cute outfit on. I had my favorite blue polka dotted spaghetti strap shirt on and my cute little tan shorts with some white heels and white beads. Sounds kosher, right? Wrong.

In one singular afternoon of wearing this outfit, I tallied three reasons to never wear this outfit again. Or at least never wear this outfit again until I can afford a professional security team.

1. Before I even made it off my block, Creepy Parking Garage Man proposed to me. Let me tell you, I've now been proposed to twice and after the first proposal, this one was a real letdown.

2. Only a mere three blocks away, an older lady tapped me on the shoulder as I was crossing the street to inform me that yet another creepy man had taken an interest in me. Only this time, he was an old, would-be-homeless-looking-if-he-wasn't-carrying-an-expensive-handheld-camcorder-in-his-hands, dirty man who was apparently videotaping my ass. Thank you, lady, for informing me of this travesty. If anyone recognizes my ass walking across Broadway from somewhere on the internet, can they please inform me immediately? I want my residuals.

3. And finally, as I was standing outside of Tisch waiting for my new actress-friend Tal to go have coffee with me, I was offered the role of a lifetime: a lead in a high-quality (or so I've been lead to believe) porn. I've got to admit, this guy's opening line of, "baby, let me make you a star" was almost remotely tempting, but I haven't been a starving artist for quite long enough yet for the idea of being a star at the price of removing my clothing for anyone to see to be appealing.

And so, as many of you know, The Men of New York are often offensive, frightening, creepy and leering (or any combination of the above), but never have I been so disturbed or harassed on any one day. Therefore, I have no choice but to conclude that my outfit was to blame. And since I've never known any man to tell me that polka dots were particularly scandalous, I must conclude that my choice in shorts was to blame. The offending shorts have now been relegated to the bottom of my bottoms drawer. And let me tell you, I have enough clothes that the bottom of any of my drawers is like garment purgatory.

The Offenders: