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As I walked the spawn around the neighborhood lake for a stroller ride, this sculpted, shirtless dude whizzed by me.

“Daaaaaamn,” I said.

I thought it was under my breath, but the child turned around, “What Momma?” I was too busy whipping my head around to check out his backside to answer her. (Not his ass. I was just making sure the dude also looked good from behind.)

Another lap around the lake gave me three more viewings of the deity. I couldn’t stop staring. On his cool-down lap, he draped his miles of glorious dreads atop of his head into one giant Erykah Badu bun.

After my waking wet dream, I wondered if I was objectifying him.

In my defense, he was shirtless and carved like a statue with glistening dark skin. Even the hobos fishing for their dinner were in awe.

In his defense, he was running in June dry heat. Just because his shirt’s off doesn’t mean he wants a married broad and smelly dudes ogling him.

Again in my defense (I’m writing, I get two takes), I’m married. I’m not trying to tie my kid up outside of the rec center, take Running Man into a janitorial closet and have him bend me over a mop bucket. (While we do the Running Man. I would.)

I was simply breath-robbed for a some seconds as I recognized one beautiful human being.

As many of us have dealt with catcalls, inappropriate mutterings, whistles, stares and gropes throughout our lives, I was left wondering why objectification is significantly different for men and women.

As I pushed my flat-tire stroller and watched two assholes get stuck in a bank in their canoe (are boats allowed in this lake?), I pondered: Is it that most women are subtle eyefuckers? I’m positive Running Man had no idea I was drooling over him. Or is it that some men spit inappropriate spat sometimes? Then we therefore lump them together in the douchebag category?

Is it possible for a guy to admire the beauty of a human being like I did that day without objectifying? Or do they all just want to bend us over a mop bucket?

The flattery takes the pattern of the way it’s displayed. A simple, “You have beautiful hair,” causes smiles and blushing, whereas a “I want to rub my duff in your stuff, girrrrrrl,” is typically followed by a middle finger and a dirty look.

Let’s play the simile game. Just as this asshole crotch-rocket rider who was weaving in and out of traffic at 60 mph in a 45 zone (and paying no heed to the cars that were breaking and swerving into the shoulder to avoid hitting him) gives bikers a bad name, the catcallers give dudes on the street a bad name.

There’s always a brand of asshole, and it can take shape in all different flavors, sexes and sizes.

We should embrace those who give us positive and nondegrading compliments. We are all beautiful creatures. And if my beauty has ever robbed someone of breath for a few seconds, well shit, call me tickled pink.

Wait until they see how pretty I am when this unfiltered mouth opens.

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