Wednesday and Thursday, or On Sulking, and Perv Watch

Two quite dull days- Wednesday was the Beloved's birthday, sending me into paroxyms of guilt (although it's hardly as if I'm having a whale of a time here) and regret that I couldn't spoil him rotten. And it rained. And for the hundredth time, even though I was totally convinced that I had finally sussed the way into town, once again the loathed sight of monstrous Termini reared its ugly head, and so I went into deault Sulk mode and, unfit for human company, retired to a rather depressing cocktail of Gotto d'Oro, Rai Uno and Russian micronovels.

Thursday I managed to be slightly less useless, not getting lost once (well, avoiding fucking Termini, which has actually overtaken all the other life goals in the importance stakes), locating Feltrinelli, and successfully navigating my way around an internet café. Alas, tragically, this was essentially the sum total of my achievements for two entire days. I could hold forth on the fascinating vicissitudes of my language classes, but I fear I would lose you pretty swiftly (although if you have any useful information about Italian conditionals I would be most grateful).

So far, so dull. I have a few adventures in mind (and a very real need to make some friends A.S.A.P, despite every natural impulse in my body), but for the moment I have devised another diversion for myself- a little project I like to call:

"Perv Watch: The Discerning Womans Guide to Casual Lechery"

You see, I have realised that there is so much more to the oft-encountered leering, and having wandered the streets of Rome unescorted for almost a week now, I have gained valuable insight into this subtle art, and realised that it falls into distinct categories:

1. The Frankly Unimaginative: Hollering Bella/ Bellissima, occasionally accompanied by a whistle vel sim, at passing target. This one is pretty universal, employed by most groups. One imagines that these men must get pretty bored of saying the same thing all day (especially those who seem to have nothing better to do than position themselves on street corners and repeat themselves ad nauseam to any female who passes). One also wonders, in much the same way as I was always curious about White-Van-Men in England, if this has ever actually worked. Not once have I been moved by such advances to go weak at the knees and throw myself at whichever lazy cretin couldn't be bothered to come up with something more imaginitive, and it seems unlikely that anyone ever has. I could be wrong. Answers on a postcard, please.
Offensive Rating: 3/10. Too idle to think of anything better, probably too idle to commit to being seriously creepy.

2. The Irksome: Following target down the street asking questions. Another fundamentally flawed tactic, to my mind- nothing is more off-putting thanhaving your own personal stalker, however briefly (unless you enjoy that sort of thing, in which case I suggest you seek help immediately). Generally favoured by men in either their late teens or early to mid twenties (while they can still move fast enough- the old ones can't keep up). The questions are in themselves fairly innocuous, but seriously irritating if you need to get somewhere. Usually batted away effectively with a simple but forceful "scusi", but it really depends what time of night it is and how nervous a constitution you possess.
Offensive Rating: 5/10. They mean no harm, but I am not one to tolerate unsolicited conversation if I can possibly help it.

3. The Unsettling: When already stood loitering in the street, falling silent and rotating very slowly so that both body and eyeline follow the passing target until far out of sight. Groups of men over the age of sixty tend to enjoy this one (it doesn't require movement, you see, and as we already discussed by this age they are no longer capable of vigorous physical pursuit), although you do get the odd Lone Eyeballer, whose motives are never quite clear but as they were silent already you don't tend to feel so uncomfortable.
Offensive Rating: 8/10. You are old enough to be my grandfather, and you and your decrepit mates really should be doing something more wholesome. (4/10 for the Lone Eyeballer- thank you for not following me!)

4. The Confusing: Unleashing a stream of unintelligible verbiage as target walks past minding her own business. Middle aged creepy types, mostly. The reason why this is so vexing is that I am never quite sure if they are perving or just saying something unpleasant. Once I gain fluency in Italian (if ever), my gift to the world will be a phrase book- "Understanding the Things that Vile Old Men Shout at You", including an exhaustive section covering how best to respond (as witheringly as possible) in any given situation.
Offensive Rating: 9/10. Not only do I feel violated, I am furious that you have not spoken clearly enough for me to comprehend, reminding me of my inferior language skills. The situation being as it is, I am in no position to ask you to repeat it più lentamente. Shame on you.

5. The Disgusting Noise: No explanation is required. Unlike the other techniques, this actually prompts me to involuntarily assume an equally disgusting facial expression due to uncontrollable revulsion.
Offensive Rating: 10/10. Unforgivable.

And finally...

6. The Surprisingly Pleasing: This is based on one isolated incident yesterday as I was walking home. Older dude, unassuming, obviously on his way home from work. Just one word- "Complimenti," and then he left it at that and went on his way- no grunting, no incomprehensible mumbling, no rotating. Now, I hope that I have made it perfectly clear that I in no way condone accosting females under any circumstances, but if they must, I quite like the idea of being awarded compliments simply for carrying my shopping home. Is there a career in this? Probably not, worth some research anyway.
Offensive Rating: 1/10. Not flattering as such, but did not give me the impulse to punch the perpetrator in the face.

So there we have it, and I shall update as I think of more (or encounter more, obviously). Thank god for variety.