Pink Stinks

I’m not very good at being a girl. There I said it.

From when I was a tiny baby I objected to dresses, frills, pink stuff. It was itchy and fussy. Put me in dungarees and I’d be happy. My parents painted my bedroom pink and hung up pink curtains with ruffles. I went into a full on strop for a week. I lived with that room till I was 14, I saved up enough and painted it myself.
 
I don’t wear make up, it makes me feel like Coco the clown and I look like a strange painted facsimile of me. I have short nails because I don’t like long ones, I honestly don’t know how people function with long nails.
 
I don’t own any heels. I tried them but I kept falling over and they’re not practical footwear in a mosh pit or for chasing toddlers.
 
I don’t own a dress or a skirt or anything pink or frilly. My hair is short, very short because I like it that way and who has the time for straighteners? Next week I’m going to dye it blue and shave some of it off, it’ll grow back, short hair is very forgiving.
 
I drink beer, I like ice hockey, I love Top Gear. I fancy motorbikes. I like wrestling. I love Tarantino. I love really angry music and pink stinks!
 
I was a Tom-boy who grew into a Tom-woman.
 
I’m not very good at being a girl. Sorry.
 

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