When’s the Last Time You Surprised Yourself?

I was walking down Prince Street in Nolita last month when I came across a group of foreign teenagers ambling in the opposite direction. As I moved closer to my destination and they closer to me, one looked at me in passing and asked if I spoke French. Before I could answer (I’d have said bien sur, obviously) he said, “Suck my penis,” and continued walking, now laughing maniacally with the blessing of an echoed cackle from the herd that followed him. Frankly, I didn’t care that much — I’ve lived in New York my entire life and have, likely as a result, been the butt of a terrible joke or comment at least as many times as I have missed the subway.

Yet on this day, I turned around, grabbed his arm and very forcibly asked: “Do you have a sister? Do you like your mother? How would you feel if a piece of shit kid walked up to either of them and asked to have them suck his penis? Watch your mouth.”

Then I turned around and continued walking, never once looking back to appease his retortive shouts. I maintain that the actual incident hasn’t had much of an impact on me so much as my response to it does: was this my female instinct kicking in? Why now and not ever before? Does it mean I maintain more respect for myself now? Or was this simply just the first time I’d actually been placed in such a position? The ordeal felt foreign — it was, I believe, the first time I’ve ever actually surprised myself. A feat that seems relatively difficult considering how well I know both myself and in most cases, what I’m about to do.

Does that make sense? When’s the last time you surprised yourself?

Image shot by Theo Wenner for Rolling Stone