Girly

I’ve always been proud of being able to man up with the best of the boys. On the playground, I ran with the boys. In the classroom, I chose the toolset over the kitchen kit and took Drafting over Home Ec. I even chose a degree program in which I sit and do math with the boys. But for all that, I am strictly a female female. I like pink and things that sparkle. I like dresses with flounces and shoes with heels and boys that notice both. Like Nancy Kwan sings, I enjoy being a girl.

That is, most of the time.

It’s just that every once in a while, the universe reminds you that you’re not a boy, but in fact a girl. And just a girl. It’s disheartening to have to open your eyes and be forced to recognize the gender-based inequalities that still define much of the world: economic, political, and sexual. Or rather, have to explicitly acknowledge that for all the pandering about in the academic or intellectual sphere, when things are boiled down to the basest of experiential differences, there is a clear and definitive line. A line that separates men and women.

Some not-so-small part of me wants to scream out, “it’s not FAIR!” and kick and scream and hit.

So you, you sitting there with your smug Y chromosome: yes, you are complicit in this. You can walk through the world talking about equality and fairness, and make your assumptions and jokes. And I will smile and laugh, but don’t you ever forget that in the end, it is unfair, and it is unfair in your favor. And you owe me.

I’m a girl, and by me that’s only great! I am proud that my silhouette is curvy
That I walk with a sweet and girlish gait; With my hips kind of swivelly and swervy
When I have a brand new hairdo, With my eyelashes all in curl
I float as the clouds on air do, I enjoy being a girl!