My Dentist Says I'm Cute

Since we have moved to Montreal (9 months), I have noticed a trend in my day-to-day encounters with people. And I am sure it has nothing to do with me in particular, and everything to do with just the way people are. The trend is this: if I have to have a conversation with someone I don't know very well, or if I end up talking to someone on the metro, at the library or wherever, my interactions are almost always with men rather than women. Walking down the street alone seems to attract male attention. And the men in Montreal are not shy. "T'es belle," "T'as un copain?" and a simple smile and a "bonjour," are all common reactions I receive upon making eye contact with a man. And I almost never tell my boyfriend.

I wonder sometimes why women don't say hello or smile as often.

Although in writing these interactions I have with men seem harmless and even flattering, since any attention at all can be taken as a compliment, when I first encounter these men my initial reaction is usually one of fear. Only twice has my boyfriend been with me when a man has made a comment to me on the street, and those two times I just laughed it off. But when I am alone, I feel helpless and embarrassed. Yes, I feel objectified.

Yet this feeling is so hard to explain with words because it simply does not make any logical sense. Even if he does not say a word, but eyes my chest or just stares at me, I still feel like something to be consumed, something to be looked at, a spectacle, a picture, a thing, a body.

Only once has a man ever crossed the line. And when I say he "crossed the line," I mean his words became much less censored, and unfortunately, probably more honest. I was sitting in front of our apartment, on the steps, reading. I had noticed him walking slowly back and forth a couple of times in front of our building before finally stopping and approaching me. He put one foot on the step I was sitting on and leaned on his slightly bent knee. In French, he asked me a few questions: "How old are you?", "Where are you from?" and, of course, "Do you have a boyfriend?" I was polite to this man for this part of our conversation. I could tell he was at least ten years older than me. He had wispy black hair and olive skin. Under his eyes there were heavy, dark circles. He started to ask me about my boyfriend, "Where is he right now?" and "When will he be back?" To these, I lied and said he would be back any moment; he was just at the store. When he started telling me I was beautiful and pure, I began to feel more uncomfortable. He really liked my colouring. He kept talking about my blue eyes and my white skin. And then he "crossed the line." He said, "Your must have beautifully white breasts, with just a hint of pink." I remember that he said those exact words while moving his finger along the outline of my shirt's neckline. He didn't touch me; he just cut his finger through the air about ten centimetres in front of my chest. I could feel my flesh getting hot. I knew my entire head was red with shame. I felt so tainted.

Somehow the power of these words, the symbolism of naked, untouched and unseen parts of my body, was strong enough to invade something private and something that was mine to protect. I felt as though this man's words had undressed me and groped me. I felt like he had consumed me and was now licking his lips, as though he'd just finished a steak. And I felt all this because he had described my breasts pretty accurately. I responded to him with a weak voice, but with strong words: "Get away from me now."

Before this encounter, I had always tried to be polite to men on the street, in the metro, or anywhere. If they made me feel uncomfortable, I would just tell myself, "It's okay, they are only trying to compliment you, just smile and keep on walking." I would think of the time I was walking with my (rather shapely) sister down the street and a bum let out a loud whistle in our direction. She turned to him and without a moment's hesitation, shouted, "fuck you!" and kept on walking. Though I admired her aggression, I knew I would never have the courage to be so fierce.

Today I had a dentist appointment. My dentist is a well-to-do man. He is a professional, a father, a husband, and many other great things. He calls me "dear."

When I went in I could see him look me up and down. I lay on the dentist chair and my skirt went up a little. To this he responded by assessing my legs. He gave me an anesthetic. He talked about my teeth. He said, "You have nice teeth, but they are in the wrong order (laughs). You have quite a small mouth." This was the second time he'd mentioned my "small mouth". His eyes moved from my teeth to my eyes, "But it does not change the fact that you are a very good-looking girl." He smiled big and his eyes became horizontal crescents. When I got up to leave, he said, "You remind me of my wife." And in my head I thought, "you must be thirty years older than me." Then he looked at my chart and said, "you are the same height as my daughter," and he peered at my body, up and down, "you are a little slimmer than her though. You are both cute."

At the time, standing there in his office, I felt like he was objectifying me, but everything in my head said that he couldn't be. He is a well-to-do man. Besides, he said I am cute like his daughter; doesn't that mean he sees me as a child? In any case, I cannot decide whether my sensitivity to male attention has grown to become more suspecting of their intensions, or if I've become more aware. My dentist didn't "cross the line", but he did make me feel slightly uncomfortable. He thinks I am good-looking; that I know for sure, but what if he was censoring himself and really has sexual thoughts about me? But even if he does, why should that bother me? I just don't know if I am paranoid and cynical about men, or if I am just no longer naive...