You can imagine the rest of the title, I’m too much of a lady to say it in public. This post is prompted by something I read on Face-book. Click on the link to find it.
Pretty hopping mad about the attitudes of some people, I shared it and then got into conversation on Twitter with the author, Clare, who thanked me for spreading the link. Not a problem, I said, I know the problem.
Only – it’s not my child. It’s me. I have been a tomboy all my life. I have been thrust kicking and screaming into pretty party frocks only to get to the party, forget I was wearing it and end up climbing trees with the boys. Since I can remember, I have felt more comfortable in men’s clothing or at the best worst, non-gender specific.
Does that make me a lesbian? A cross-dresser? A gender-queer? I don’t know and to be honest, I DON’T CARE. My sexuality is nobody’s business and what difference does it make to anyone who knows me? None! I’m me – big, silly, friendly, witchy, human-teddy-bear Ailsa. Of course I’ve had my doubts from time to time, most humans do but I’m happy being me.
I look good. Now in my 50s I can indulge in a bit of girlie dressing up and look OK when the situation demands. I’m even getting pretty cool with my punk goth eye make-up but that’s more of another rebel statement than a fashion trend. Or collar and tie with my lovely brogue shoes…
That child is fine! Skull duvet cover? Oh yeah, I’d still love one of those! Wearing a suit? Done that! Boy was I sexy – even fancied myself in that. I don’t do hoodies but leather … now I still go mad on leather and denim.
I don’t care if she wants to be called a boy’s name either. My middle name is Cameron and I’ve been called Cam by my closest friends a lot of the time. That’s why my other pen name is Cameron. Doesn’t mean I want anyone sticking any kind of label on me. No thanks.
Leave the kid alone. She may grow up screwy in a goofy sort of way like me but she won’t have hang-ups and what she does with her bits is her own business.