I’m Terrible at Being a Girl
I am awaiting the knock on the door when they just come and revoke my girl card. I will hand it over with only a slight bit of embarrassment. I hope no one minds that I forgot I was supposed to bedazzle it sometime in the early 2000s. There’s a reason it didn’t happen. I didn’t want to do it.
I suck at doing all the girls things I feel like I am supposed to be doing. Like adhering synthetic fibers onto my actual eyelashes. Or not eating carbs.
I feel like I should understand a lot of girl things but, no matter how hard I try, I just can’t. For the record, “no matter how hard I try” is a good solid two out of ten in the effort department.
I have no idea at what point in our lives we somehow missed the memo that we didn’t all have to wear pink on Wednesday. Still, we do it.
I am under the impression that most of the girl things are crap, anyway. And a lot of us know it.
I am reserving my right to not participate in the shenanigans. Mainly, this is due to me being a complete failure at most things noted as being “girl things.” The laundry list of items is growing at an alarming rate.
Makeup and Hair Tutorials
Please make it stop. If I ever do delete my social media, I will tell you right now, it will not be for some moral or social purpose. It will be because I can’t endure one more woman contouring her face just so or curling her hair into perfect messy waves. That ten minute video is eight minutes and 49 seconds more than I like to spend on my face.
I’m Italian. I spend most of my grooming time trying to prevent my hair from its natural state — messy waves. I will never wear wing tip eyeliner. Is that even what you call it? I have no idea and I refuse to Google it because that asshole Mark Zuckerberg will find a way to add eight more of these videos to my Facebook tomorrow. Yes, I do hold him personally responsible.
Eyebrows in General
I have completely given up in this arena. My friend Carol has the most perfect eyebrows. I have no idea what kind of sorcery it takes to make them happen and I don’t want to know.
My eyebrows are a disaster and I am clueless as to how I fix them. They’ve become patchy. Some sections are rebelling and losing color.
In younger days, I had a friend whose family had chickens. There was one that inexplicably lost feathers in random places. That’s my eyebrows. My eyebrows are that chicken.
Pumpkin Spice Anything
I have a sneaking suspicion that very few people actually like pumpkin spice anything. Yet, it’s now August and I am dreading the impending pumpkin spice season.
I love fall as much as the next person. I will grant pass to the good ol’ PSL, though that bastard started the who thing. Other than that, I would like to cordially request that Pumpkin Spice only be found in edible dessert items that are made in a kitchen. This should be limited to four items. Period. Yes, I am placing unusual and arbitrary constraints on baked goods. It’s needed.
This makes me feel like a horrible person. Last year, I had a girls trip and a friend of mine made us matching shirts. Oh God. I can’t tell you how much matching shirts makes my teeth itch.
I am not a joiner. I enjoy my independence just a hair too much. Having my attire determined for me in advance is a problem. For the record, I went along with it. I sucked it up. I did it. I did not complain. After three whiskeys, I forgot about my shirt. So there’s that.
Shirts with Little Sayings
I may be living my best life. I may really like tacos. It is absolutely true that coffee is a pivotal part of my day. I don’t want to communicate this to you through an artificially faded shirt.
I got an email from Target promoting these shirts with the line “Find something iconic (and trendy) that everyone will recognize.” These shirts are secret handshakes. Hard pass.
See also: “I don’t really like this band but the shirt is cute” shirts.
Celebrating Your Birth Month
It’s the beginning of August. So far, I have four friends celebrating their “birth month.” I will not be joining in on the celebration. You get one day from me. That’s it.
I have not done anything for my birthday for so long that it was 2pm on my birthday this year before I realized it was my birthday.
I am actually jealous of people born on February 29th who get to ignore their birthday for three years.
A whole month? No, thank you. You get one day. One. Just one.
This is not the part of the piece where I declare how much I wish I could really be on board with these things. That’s not going to happen. But, many of my friends are be supporters of the stuff I think is weird. They support me in ditching out of the girl meetings where we discuss options for home delivery kits like Stitch Fix, Birch Box or Box of Bullshit.
Ladies, I am cool with you. I still love you. I still want to sit together at lunch. I just won’t shop at Target with you.