Comic Conventions have become a big thing lately. When I was a prepubescent dork, a comic con was where I and other sweaty fellows went to get Erik Larsen to doodle the Savage Dragon’s head on a copy of Thor #385 (scripted by the great Stan Lee).
Now a comic con is a place where everybody, including women, go to learn about comic book movies. There are booth babes, cosplayers, regular fans and promotional girls London everywhere you look.
Unfortunately some of my fellow dorks have had a lot of trouble adjusting. I have a friend (yes, she works at a comic store) who related to me a horror story. Her friend was in a skirt and a bunch of sweaty geeks were following her around giggling and taking pictures. As she walked up a set of stairs, they excitedly took photos up her skirt. She had to run in an elevator to escape.
How about a new rule: Pretend every woman at a comic convention is your sister. OK?