I can’t help it. I still get runs in my stockings and chip my nail polish. I would rather live in jeans, flip-flops and a t-shirt over some fancy party dress and patent leather shoes. I try to comb my hair daily. But the truth is that I am covered in cuts and bruises. I have way too many bug bites in the summer. I live with a stuffy nose in the winter. I still prefer to not wear eyeliner.
Some girls manage to break through all of this at a very young age: accepting party dresses and tea parties and curly haired dolls with open arms. I rolled around in dirt and climbed trees and played manhunt. I jumped fences and had sword fights. I played kickball. All of my fingers face different directions from being broken too many times.
I can chug a beer and keep up with the dudes. I can shoot whiskey. I can burp. I can eat pizza and wings like there is no tomorrow. I have the mouth of a sailor. I hate whiney chick flicks (The Notebook and A Walk to Remember make me gag). I laugh endlessly at Family Guy and SouthPark (fart jokes!).
My many girlie traits (shopping and latte chugging) take precedence often, as I have learned to conceal my boyish-ness. But don’t be fooled – I am a teeny girl: I am dainty, but I am definitely not delicate.