What’s wrong with men

Today I put on a dress. I sometimes do that. It’s blue, almost knee long. The colour suits me well and it has a rather fancy cut, but nothing to get excited about. That’s what I thought. And I was right, nobody got excited about the dress. But as soon as I stepped on the bike and the dress revealed a bit more of my legs... I first got noticing glances from some neighbourhood boys who otherwise seem to be unaware of my existence. Then a mailman whistled as I passed by.
“Hot!” – a dude at the bus stop.
“Hey babe!” – a construction worker.
“Schatje!” – a regular Turk.
“Cutie!” – garbage collectors.
“Wow!” – a truck driver.

I was looking forward to finally reaching the station, getting off the bike and shaking off all this attention. Suddenly some blond, unshaven twenty-something youth on a bike started circling around me. He was looking at my legs, winking and saying something. Luckily the music coming out of my earphones prevented me from hearing any of that. I sighed. “What do you want me to do - breastfeed you?” – I thought.

What’s wrong with all those men?