Hearing these words from an old buddy who knew me well was like looking in the mirror and seeing someone else.
A Tomboy? Me? Why?
” Because you can hang around with us and stand up for yourself ” he said.
I remember a girl from summer camp who was called a Tomboy by other girls, but in this case the line between “Tomboy” and ” Bully” was almost invisible.
Until I went in the underground the next morning, I hadn’t realised who I had become after 12 years of having only boy- friends.
No, I’ve tried hard, tried it all, but I can’t be friends with 90% of women. The gossiping, the need for attention, ” daddy’s girls “, the time-clock…. and their ways to go around a complete communication tools “blocking” -and even running away from them to another continent – when dangerous intimate secrets are exchanged….
Back to the Underground. I scanned a few women who were standing in the wagon- maybe standing makes them more masculine- and I noticed first they all carry a bag. Poor souls.
What’s in their bags? I only carry my keys, phone and purse in my pockets. What’s the point of carrying a guilt- packed, half- eaten chocolate bar for six months back and forth ? And all that make up? Is it really the end if the World if a colleague catches you with faded makeup?
Scrolling down a little, and getting more and more amused, I spotted the uncomfortable shoes. Whether too narrow or too high the heels, does bearing that kind of Medieval punishment make you a ” Power Woman”?
Who says? Which pseudo- “Premiere-Dame”? No wonder the wages are gapped- who can achieve a fair rate of work productivity in those shoes?
For an enlightening moment I thought I had walked into the subway in my slippers.[sociallocker][/sociallocker]
As a toddler discovering a new world around her, I couldn’t resist but reading the WhatsApp a young office worker was sending to her friend. She was actually pasting her previous nights boyfriend ‘s WhatsApps to another female friend- to get some sympathy from her, I supposed.
A man would never do that. Neither would a tomboy.
Which means- if you’re named a Tomboy you can go from A to B without getting three scratches on your car.
You don’t stain wine glasses with sticky rouge.
You don’t spend cash nor time on learning details about celebrities ‘ lives.
You don’t use a push-up bra- your breasts are fighting fit thanks to the volleyball.
Other woman ask themselves why men get into joking mood when they’re around you.
You don’t need two and a half hours of grooming before going out to a party.
You always get an early call after a one-night-stand.
And best of all, your hair, skin and nails look like a healthy baby’s because you don’t get your body vandalised at hair salons, tanning beds etc…
As I do own a favourite rag doll from childhood which comforts me when PMS, and always get given jewellery by my partners, I am past the shock after a week and I am embracing the practicality, comfort, joy and freedom of being somewhat tomboyish .
But the old buddy? Wait a minute! He’s got long hair, tight pants and pointed shoes…. isn’t he slightly queer?
Thanks for sharing!
More humor here…