Dear Mister Pervert: An Open Letter to Pervy Men

Please don't lunge at me the Christmas office party, I don't care that you're wife is having an affair with the post man or that you can afford to take me to a fancy hotel, I will have play no part in your latest mid-life crisis. Put down the whisky and take your receding hair-lined face home.

Dear Mr married colleague

Please don't lunge at me the Christmas office party, I don't care that you're wife is having an affair with the post man or that you can afford to take me to a fancy hotel, I will have play no part in your latest mid-life crisis. Put down the whisky and take your receding hair-lined face home.

Dear Mr drunk 17 year old

Points for confidence but may I politely remind you that it's past your bed time, I can see your boxers and popular to contrary belief your bright blue alcohol-pop infused tongue isn't doing much for me.

Dear Mr taxi driver

I like my dress too but I would prefer it if you focused on the road rather than on my legs.

Dear Mr wolf whistler

What is it that you are hoping to achieve here? Do you really think that I'm going to hear your melodic whistle, fall to the floor overwhelmed by flattery and suddenly decide that you are the man I want to have babies with?

Dear Mr drive by wolf-whistler

Same as above with the added complication of your moving vehicle; the need to clarify your intentions is only strengthened.

Dear Mr pensioner on the bus

I'm sure your wife was a beautiful lady and as lovely as it is to be told that I remind you of her, I would much rather be complimented by someone my own age who doesn't start sentences with 'back in my day'.

Dear Mr 'oh sorry miss, I didn't mean to touch your bottom, I was reaching for my coffee?'

Your coffee is nowhere to be seen and if it did in fact exist it certainly wouldn't be perched on top of my derrière.

Dear Mr flasher on the tube

I'm sure you are very proud of your manhood but unless you're having a full English, sausage before noon is simply unacceptable. Put it away and buy yourself some pants.

Dear Mr 'I wish you were more distant' relative

I do not want to sit on your lap and am bewildered as to why you have continued to ask me this past puberty.

Dear Mr sleazy rich guy

It's going to take a lot more than a few bottles of Belvedere and a VIP table to make you attractive and any less of a cliché.

Disclaimer: The above are all genuine anecdotes generously donated by twenty-something women who leave home every morning preying that they won't be flashed on their way to work.

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