As I have written many a time, I love and am surrounded by many excellent men. Many men are wonderful or, at the least, not horrible.

But far too many really need to sit down or stand back, and just stop.

This morning, after a fitful night of sleep, I got dressed and walked over the lovely bridge that spans the Sheepscot River and connects Edgecomb and Wiscasset (Maine). It was hot as hell, and by the time I arrived at Treats, I had worked up quite the dewy complexion. It’s a lovely little shop, and everything looked delicious. I finally settled on an almond croissant and a latte and wandered the store while waiting.

A male voice said, “excuse me.” I was startled and whirled around. He was wearing a bright orange shirt, had the start of a beard, and was maybe 35. I’m not good at estimating age, but he was younger than me.

“I’m not hitting on you,” he said, “but you are just so beautiful that I had to tell you.”

I was a bit taken aback, not least because it was maybe 9 am, and I was sweaty and he seemed a bit intense. I thanked him and fetched my coffee. As I turned from the counter, the guy scurried toward the single shop door, stared at me and gasped.

“I mean, you’re just so beautiful, I can hardly take it.”

Increasingly uncomfortable, I said thank you and hurried out the door and towards the bridge.

It’s a lengthy (just over a half-mile) two-lane bridge with a narrow pedestrian path on one side. On both sides are long drops to the water below. There was a decent amount of traffic, and as I stepped onto the footpath, I pricked my ears and started begging the goddesses that he wasn’t following me. I passed a woman I’d passed earlier- we waved, and as I glanced over my shoulder, I saw the guy. On his fucking bike.

I picked up my pace and started to take stock. Traffic was too heavy to get onto the road, and I couldn’t very well jump over the side of the bridge if need be. There was another man far ahead of me, but that was it.

I was really sweating now, and I looked behind me one more time. Bike guy was not a foot away. “You’re just so beautiful. I wanted to give you…”

Before he could go any further, I snapped at him and said “Now you are really making me uncomfortable. Leave me alone.”

I turned and began to run, latte sloshing all over my hand, backpack beating my spine like a drum. I finally caught up to the other man and tapped his shoulder— he had his ear buds in and probably almost suffered a cardiac. I quickly explained the situation and asked if I could walk with him across the bridge. He was so kind. Turns out he and his wife and son were staying at the same lodge I was, so he walked me almost to my door.

I scurried in, locked the door, and nearly hit something in rage before dousing a washcloth with cold water to wipe my sweaty face.

Can women not do anything? I have every right to walk across a bridge on a sunny morning and to walk back with coffee without worrying that some freak is going to hit on me.

This country and its feelings towards women are horrible. Just stultifyingly gross and wrong entirely too much of the time and in entirely too many arenas.

I’m so sick of everything. I hope the kind man told his son what happened, modeling what to be and do in vast contrast to the entitled, obtuse, intimidating, inept ways too many behave.