“You’re a Tomboy.”

IMG_1907Hearing 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!

 

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