Girly Girl?

Have you ever had a realization that you are not what you thought you were?

I had one of those today.  I realized today, again, that although I am female I am not a girlie girl.  Nor will I ever be a girlie girl.  It is just not in my blood. Not anywhere to be found.

I would rather wear jeans and a t-shirt, put my hair up in a pony tail and high tale it without makeup on any day.  I don't like to talk about my problems, I do like dirt, and I like beating a boy in a shoot-out, a leg wrestle, or a tournament of wits.

I do not have short girl syndrome, nor do I have a problem with girlie girls.  I just am not one.  And no matter how hard I try, I don't think I will ever be one.  Glamour is not my middle name.

I work on computers all day, I like the smell of turpentine, and my hair is generally a "hot-mess" (in a "cute" sort of way).  I prefer chapstick over lip gloss, and I really like pants.

Don't get me wrong, I have the occasional glamour day where I spend an hour+ on my makeup and hair, I do, in fact, own many pairs of ridiculous high heeled shoes, and yes--I can walk in them.  I have boxes full of jewelry that I wear on occasion, and I do like to paint my toenails black with red sparklies.

I want to be a mom, the epitome--in my opinion--of feminism.  But there is something about the foofy hair and long, thick manicured fingernails that does not appeal to me in the name of "woman."

My wedding ring has three little diamonds in it, and the one on the far right is yellow.  My husband thinks I am sexy and that is good enough for me.  I like where I am at, and I appreciate that fashion police don't actually exist.

I guess I really am a hippie at heart.