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Wednesday, March 24, 2004::
Tomboy
When I was younger I was a complete tomboy. Hated dresses, or anything pink, wouldn't brush my hair, basically I was one of the guys.
I would always have to prove myself to other guys that would look at me and be like "She can't play with us-she's a girl!", in which case, I would most likely say (hey don't take offense at my past words) "Shut up or I'll kick your ass, boy!"
On rare occasions did I ever have to physically prove myself.
Being a tomboy was fun, I didn't have to think about what I'd look pretty in, didn't have to waste 10 minutes on brushing my hair, and didn't have to stick into the stereotype of "girls play with barbies and play dressup"
Of course being a tomboy has weird sides too.
When I was in the 4th grade I had my hair cut pretty short (with bangs), I didn't shave my legs, mostly I wore pants that were cut to be made into shorts and a really long baggy shirt, I didn't nessisarily have visible female antaomy either.
Well, this day I looked like most others. Cut-off shorts and my chicken shirt, riding with my aunt my cousins and my brother to stay the night at their house while taking things from my grandma's house, so we could sale the house after she had died, and taking the stuff to my aunt's house. Well along the road, close to a large bridge, we broke down. Garah! My aunt and cousin, Jessica were busy looking at the car.
Well, the rest of us (Me, Chad, Cole and Paul) were just sitting there, and there were all these cars driving by, what else are you going to do? We stuck out our thumps like hitch-hikers seeing if someone would pull over. My aunt told us not to do that, because it was illigal, so we stopped. She went back to checking out the engine. We started it up again. After about 5 minutes a van pulls over and we all pile inside.
It was an old couple, and my aunt asked them to take up back to my house. On the way they started talking to us. The woman told us that they weren't going to stop for us, but they saw the cutest little boy in the yellow shirt and decided they just had to pull over. I chuckled inside and looked back at Cole, thinking they were talking about him. But he wasn't wearing a yellow shirt. Weird. I looked around the entire car, confused. No one else had a yellow shirt on either! Did I hear them wrong?
At that point I looked down to reveal that I was wearing my yellow chicken shirt that day. If I was capable of turning red I probably would have looked like--like...-something red...
I didn't correct them, I thought it'd just be better that way for both of us, I suppose.
Lesson: Girls will act like boys, smell like boys, and fight like boys, but they will NOT be called a boy ...or a girl ...or a woman. And if you call me sir I'm shipping you into the Army.
That is all
-: Amy Kelley blogged it up at 6:15 PM:-
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