I very recently came to the conclusion that I’m a tom-boy. I greatly enjoy my comfort and, for instance, don’t greatly feel the need to plaster my face with layers upon layer of makeup (It’s uncomfortable and potentially messy) to be accepted by society. I’m rather content with being myself so won’t deck out in killer heels and impossibly short skirts to be noticed. That this is not feminine behaviour has been drummed into my head whenever I walk around this town. What women wear is just amazing. I’ve often had to lift my jaw from the floor when my attention was grabbed by the chick dressed in a skirt that was so short, you almost thought you’d imagined it, coupled with heels that seemed designed to enable one see above the Eiffel Tower! And all this in a banking hall!
Which reminds me that I was out on the rave the other day, sensibly dressed in flats, jeans and a jacket. (We often joke with a pal who dresses similarly when out, that compared to the other females, we might as well have carried our blankets from our beds!) It’s really cold, but a look around would have had you thinking that the day of reckoning was upon us and hell’s furnaces had been opened to scorch the sinful of the earth. That fashion beats the weather is the understatement of the year! Anyhoo, as I enjoy the night holding myself from high-fiving the DJ for his great mixing choice, my attention is grabbed by this poor small girl who can hardly walk in her choice of outfit. That she can’t seat is obvious to all, but her efforts at prancing around while hiding from view what should only be seen (that night) by the guy leading her to their table is sad. Why really do we insist on doing this while the greatest achievement it could lead to is landing in someone’s bed? Well perhaps that’s why I’m still single!
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