Nice breasts."

Ninety-nine times out of a hundred I ignore such comments, rationalizing that man is a neanderthal. But on this night, it was the second time a stranger felt the urge to comment loud enough for my ears. Without a glance in his direction, I lifted my middle finger. A moan of "whoooaaa!" from his friends, proved my gesture did not go unnoticed.

Tits, boobs, melons, knockers, whatever you want to call them, I have them. I am woman, and God gave me breasts. It's that simple. I have accepted I will never be a male. I understand my paycheck will probably be 60 cents to my male counterpart's dollar. But, I will never understand the male urge to yell out, "Man, nice tits" as I walk down College Avenue.

Sexism is prejudice and discrimination based on sex. It takes many forms, some more blatant than others. Growing up, prejudice was at work while playing coed team sports. I have also been discriminated against in my summer job. But sexist comments about certain parts of my female anatomy have been the most difficult to deal with. I'm still looking for ways to handle it.

As I see it, there are two choices in dealing with sexist comments. One, you can ignore them. However, the less you express yourself, the less you are. Most of the time I do ignore it. I just put my head down and keep walking. It doesn't hurt any less. I still feel violated and upset.

Your second choice is to respond to the rude remark. I will admit flicking the bird is not the most mature action. It's better to be perfectly frank. Walk right up to the loser and say,"Look, your comments really hurt. I don't appreciate them at all."

This usually works. Usually. I can't see myself going up to a bunch of drunk guys or construction workers using this tactic. One of my male friends says some guys purposely make rude comments so women will come over and initiate a conversation. I wouldn't want to give them the satisfaction.

"Oh, some girls don't mind it," some guys say. If you think that women sometimes enjoy it because they giggle and laugh, think again. It's a defense mechanism. Women are socialized away from anger. We've been taught to avoid conflict. It's the way society has taught us to handle awkward situations. Thus, we smile a lot and wear big bulky sweaters, even though we don't feel like smiling and the sweaters are itchy. We do this to avoid bringing attention to ourselves and our sexuality.

I used to be like that. I went from a triple A to a 34 C the summer before 11th grade. Everyone noticed. Everyone commented. Talk about being self-conscious. It didn't matter if we were running five suicides at the end of basketball practice, the sweatshirt stayed on. Because even if I could come to terms with my budding sexuality, it seemed nobody else could.

The day after being crowned prom queen, one of my teachers told me of a conversation that took place in the teacher's lounge. "How do they choose prom queen?" asked one teacher. "Cleavage," answered another (a female teacher, I might add.)

I no longer hide my sexuality behind big bulky sweaters. It doesn't matter. People are gonna notice I am female. (I was wearing a provocative long-sleeved T-shirt the night I gave the guy the bird). I would rather celebrate my sex than hide it.

I just wish my chest didn't get in the way of being viewed as a competent individual. One of my fellow interns this summer, commenting on her supervisor who liked me but not her, said, "That's just because he wanted to look down your shirt."

I have thus far lamented about sexist comments directed at me. Sexism is not reserved just for women with big breasts. It affects all women. Feminist Robin Morgan said it best: "To be a woman and conscious and be anywhere in the world is to be in a constant state of rage."

Sexism is about the professor telling our class that females should be more concerned with staying at home than having a career. It's about the man who told me males make better lifeguards after I told him I was captain at the beach. It's about the guy who stared at me in the library two weeks ago and then proceeded to follow me out when I left. It's about being afraid to walk alone at night.

I am tired of having to smile or shrug off problems I have encountered because of my sex. The issue isn't trivial. Ask any woman, and I'll bet she has been discriminated against or harassed.

I have never viewed myself as a feminist. Feminists are wrongly depicted as militant and man-hating. That's not what they are about at all. Feminists are conscious of the problems of being female and are advocates for equal rights. They don't have penis envy. Just envy for equal pay and equal respect.

I have just declared myself a feminist.

Some of the "men" in the newsroom grabbed my book of notes as I was writing this column. They joked about my topic and made fun of my line, "I am woman. I have breasts." I guess I should have written, "I am a human being. I have feelings." This topic is important because it's that kind of attitude that hurts the most. Not being treated seriously, always being subject to comments, and always worrying that my sex will be discriminated against is something that they will never understand.

OK. I know I said it already, but here it goes again: I'm a woman and I have breasts. My ass isn't too bad either. But I'd rather you didn't pinch me or grab me. It makes me uncomfortable. It's harassment. It's illegal. And if I laugh as I pull away, I'm not being coy. I'm just trying to get away as quickly and calmly as possible.