In fairness, I probably thought I wasn't like most girls, because I just don't like most girls. I grew up fat and smart and asthmatic. Popular girls beat the crap out of each other, you can only imagine how that went for me. They did everything short of holding me down and shitting on my chest. And probably only because they didn't think they could hold me down.
I'd like to say it made it a better person. And it did. Not in a mother Teresa way, full of kindness and patience. But in a "I feed off your sorrow" kind of way. I'm not bitter, I'm just great at being mean. It was a hidden talent, and the bitches I grew up with helped me discover that. Appreciated indeed.
Cut to present day. I get married, learn to cook, knit and perform other house-wifely tasks with the greatest of ease. I am the feminist dream. I have it all. Except girlfriends. And much like the salmon swimming upstream the place of its birth, I seek the company of women. But what kind of women? How can I find other reclusive, opinionated, social outcasts with biting wits? I start a knitting group.
"Why am I doing this?!?" I scream. "I don't even like women." But there I am in a coffee shop, every Tuesday, knitting, bitching about husbands, trading recipes, and being cliche as ever. You become what you hate, they say. The big secret is, I found the other girls who weren't like the other girls. We are loud, bitchy, nerdy and perfect. Suck on that, 6th grade.
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2 comments:
well, bitch is the new black.
and you might not know it from my stay-at-home east memphis minivan-driving lifestyle, but i am full of rage. seriously.
Finally! Acceptance is ours!
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