I imagine a gaggle of women standing perfectly still on the street. Some of them wear skirt suits or gowns. Some are in sweats. All ages, sizes, ethnicities. Stone still, living mannequins. And while these women maintain their poised positions, hundreds and hundreds of men swiftly weave around them.
One of the women shouts through pursed lips, “Everyone, remember to keep still! You know what will happen if you move.”
Another woman responds, teeth clenched, lips just barely making words “But I have to get to work!”
The first woman repeats, “You know what will happen if you move!”
A third woman says, “My knee is about to buckle. I can’t stay like this much longer.”
Her knee does in fact buckle, she falls to the ground only to be instantly jack rabbit-like screwed by a random passing man. After a few short minutes, the man carries on with his day and the woman shouts to him, “Call me!”
“Tsk, tsk , tsk” says the first woman. “What did I tell you? Men will screw ANYTHING that moves!”
The “mannequins,” confused, saddened, desperate, continue to maintain their frozen states, longing for and hoping that they, one day, may be the “special” one, not just the one that moved.