"There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so."

I got catcalled on my 47th birthday.

This was not your standard "walking by construction site in excellent shoes and catcalled by man in yellow hardhat" that one experiences from the ages of 12 - 38; this was a whistle ricocheting off the ice crystals of a November morning, sent out the open window of an early 2000's silver Honda Civic with a bike rack on the back, aimed toward me as I jogged up the hill at the end of my morning run, unbrushed hair straggling out under a stocking cap, mismatched socks showing under too-short running pants that kept spontaneously rolling down my perimenopausal muffin-top in 30 second intervals.

I glanced around. Was that whistle meant for me? Was it an ironic whistle, mocking the middle-aged lady shuffling up the hill? A generous whistle sent in the false belief that women like to be whistled at? A whistle sent by someone I vaguely know? (If so, why would you cat-call? Do you even know me at all?) A whistle mistakenly sent in a case of false recognition and then instantly regretted?

And, how, exactly should I feel about that whistle? There was no one else around. It was clearly meant for me. The car kept driving; it did not slow down. I did not feel particularly vulnerable. I did feel like I should be offended--yet  I was mostly amused, my self-deprecating brain inventing 27 rebuttals on the spot.

And then I started to over-analyze my self-deprecation. Was I implying that I was not worthy of a catcall? Too middle-aged? Too plus-sized? Too awkwardly-gaited? A woman beyond repair? A woman beyond (possibly ironic or mistaken) appreciation?

I am just as worthy of being degraded as any other woman out there, dammit!

This is my dilemma.

And so I have made a decision.

I am going to own this catcall, just this one time, as an act of true appreciation for how truly amazing I am. I am a work in progress, to be sure. But I am a damn fine piece of work, refusing to age gracefully, refusing to go quietly, refusing to be anything other than who I am today.

Today, I got catcalled. Today, I am 47. Today, is a pretty fine day, and today I am pretty fine.