I Am Woman. Hear Me Roar.

Well, less of a roar and far, far more of a ‘squeak’, really.

Today’s topic is on the subject of Being A Girl. I appreciate that there is a certain percentage of my readership (tip of the hat to you there, fellas) to whom this is a state they are  highly unlikely ever to achieve. But more to the point, it’s one of those dull, boring, self-analysing streams of consciousness.

You have two seconds to leave and go, I don’t know, to the Top Gear website. Or wherever it is you go when you’re not here.

Still here?

How about now?

Well, if you’re still here now, I’m going to presume you’ve got a passing interest in what the hell this blog entry is going to be about. Am I going to be giving away some deeply entrusted secret about the difference between men and women? (Well, yes: but only to clarify that men are NOT from Mars and women are NOT from Venus, because those two planets are in the same solar system and frankly, when it comes to relationships, men and women are definitely not). Am I going to be whining on about how hard it is to be one of the fairer sex in a man’s world? No, not really. I apologise if that disappoints you.

You can still go look at Top Gear, you know. Hell, I would be.

And that’s the point. All my life, certainly since I can remember, I’ve been a tomboy. I have an older brother and I think that’s part of it. I like boy things. I am interested in how cars work and helped an ex re-build a Lotus cylinder head once. I like science fiction stuff (well, DUH, obviously) and I like computers. I’m not a left-sided brain person though; I definitely fall more into the creative and expressive category than the logical and mathematical one. Although, having said that, I do get excited by creating spreadsheets, charts, graphs and I have a secret love of bridges. My inner civil engineer.

This is about something more fundamentally complex.

Because I’m such a tomboy, I tend to hide my – how can I word this delicately – female form behind baggy t-shirts and oversized jeans. I’m useless at the Dressing Like A Girl thing. I own makeup, but don’t really know how to apply it. I wash my hair daily and never go anywhere near ‘product’. I never even use a hairdryer. I would probably set fire to the house. I own a variety of smart-ish clothes for work, but mostly it’s jeans and t-shirt.

However.

Aaron and Katie’s wedding is in July. The last two weddings I went to, I went either as the bride or as a matron of honour. Thus, what to wear wasn’t an issue. I am already in a nosedive state of panic about what to wear to this wedding. I would not be so crass as to go down the baggy t-shirt route, but also, I actually want to make the effort. But I have no idea where to start.

I hate clothes shopping. I wear a size 14-16 which isn’t exactly outsized, but whenever I walk into a shop, I have the sense that everyone is staring at me and going ‘what the hell do you think you’re going to find in here to fit you‘? Thus, I tend to run in, never try anything on and run back out again.

Now, I’ve found a website that has a number of what I think are really pretty dresses, at sensible prices – but with discovering that comes a whole new realm of horror.

Shoes.

I fail as a girl. I hate shoes almost as much as I hate handbags. I will buy a pair of shoes, wear them until they dissolve into a sad little heap and then buy new shoes. Thus, the circle of footwear life begins all over again. I prefer my trainers or, if I’m indoors, bare feet. So I’ll be looking at this site and I’ll go ‘oh! That’s a nice dress!’ My finger hovers over the ‘add to basket’ button and then this little inner monologue starts. Almost word for word, this is what goes through my head every time I look at clothes, either online or in the shops:-

Yeah, it’s a nice dress, but seriously. What shoes will you wear with it? Or should you wear boots? What about the colour? Do you really think that would suit you? Also, what about tights? Hold-ups? Which would be best? What colour? What about underwear, for heaven’s sake? Do you need a different colour bra? What if you buy that dress and realise just how un-girl like you actually are? What will you do with your hair? WHY ARE YOU EVEN CONSIDERING THIS?

And thus, I remove the pointer from the ‘add to basket’ button and go back to writing about posthuman super-warriors beating the shit out of aliens.

Touché.