I did an easy-ish plod of 3 miles or so this morning, to fit in with a drive back to my folks' place for the weekend. Running around where I live can often be interesting but by and large the people are nice. I do often wince a little though when I can see myself approaching anyone a little... er... "unsavoury" looking... shall we say? I guess it's just self-preservation for a girly out running alone.
This morning, such citizens came in the shape of two adolescent boys, masking themselves with hoods, despite the sticky weather, and swaggering proudly up the road. I bravely upped the pace and tried shuffle stealthily past; however, I didn't go unnoticed and they thought themselves very amusing to start making noises reminiscent of Pepé Le Pew trying to impress that poor kitty cat, only lacking the flattering sentiments.
I never know quite what to do in these situations, so I plumped for the first thing that came into my head: flick them the finger and run for it*.
At least I could be certain of one thing - there was no way they could chase after me. They'd chosen to wear their trousers at half mast as only yooves (plural of yoof, surely?) know how. These bad boys were so precariously low slung, they were approaching their ankles - even the slightest of jogs and gravity would have put a stop to the pursuit. Phew.
*(Aren't I the upstanding member of the community?!)