I am THIS CLOSE to resigning my tomboy-grew up with brothers-incompetent dresser-one of the boys status.
Case in point:
My friend Abby brought me sunflowers on Thursday, when she came over to drink beer and eat pizza and play in the pool and relax in the hot tub and talk about boys with me.
Initially I put them in the tallest, sturdiest, got-it-at-the-LA-County-Fair-when-I-bought-a-giant-beer plastic cup, balancing them so their tough, thick stalks wouldn't cause the whole balancing work of art to topple.
Today. Just now. I grabbed an empty Nescafe jar (which I salvaged from the recycling in the break room at work for my crafting purposes), trimmed the sunflower stalks (with my scissors that I often use for cross stitching -- another reason to be heaped on this identity crisis, "Am I a tomboy or am I a housewife in training?" moment), and popped them in that there jar.
And then I grabbed a ribbon (which I salvaged from a cookie basket that was delivered to our HR director at work) and tied it in a bow around the jar.
And it looks damn good and homey and hipster and all that jazz.
And I am a woman who grew up with boys who wrestled in hallways and belched and smashed watermelons with baseball bats in the backyard.
WHO AM I?!?!?!?!?!
I have spent my afternoon (not morning, because I got out of bed at 12:30) doing dishes, making French press coffee, peppering thyme on my scrambled eggs, etc.
My apartment is a huge, slobby mess, so I still have that boyishness to cling to.
Phew.
And I let someone in my apartment last night, so he saw the slobby mess, and I think that not hiding your slobbishness is a sign that you are a tomboy and just one of the guys, right?
RIGHT?!??!?!?!
.......................Deep breathhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh......................................
I'll be calculating my identity, if you need me. But first, look:
I L-O-V-E that I was the initiator of this blog post. Next time... I'm bringing a crotchet needle and a ball of yarn. I'll pet Max while you try to figure that out. :)
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:)
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