Lesbians, Butt Thorns and Fat Bastard

Have you ever watched a woman get dressed?
Between picking an outfit, styling hair and perfecting makeup, a significant other could play three games of League of Legends with a coffee break between each one, and seriously contemplate their life or choice of partner.
It takes HOURS.
I’m female. I check daily. Though the routine?
Man, I’d rather go naked. I mean, I’ve dreamt about it enough times.
Has that ever happened to you? One second you’re at school, campus or work, doing your thing, and the next?
BUTT NAKED, PANICKING BECAUSE YOU HAVEN’T SHAVED YOUR LEGS AND EVERYONE IS GOING TO SEE YOUR PRICKLY THIGHS
Every. Single. Time.
So, I don’t plan what I wear. I throw stuff on and decide whether to change or not by trying to label myself as others would when they see me.
Everybody does it. Oh, there goes the punk. He’s followed by the geek. The goth is close behind, and there comes the overly-dressed drama queen. The last guy fell behind because it’s noticeably harder to walk when you have that much swag.
I stood before the mirror, having changed out of ‘the emo kid’ outfit, and tried to stereotype myself. I frowned for a second, and then it came to me.
LESBIAN!
I was good to go.
I’m not actually a lesbian. Not quite. I’ve got myself a man-friend. I drugged him, made him think I’m amazing, and now he’s mine. Or something.
Boyfriend asked me how I’d like him to be. Weight-wise, y’know? I didn’t want to answer. He insisted.
“FAT AND GREASY BABY, YEAH
BE MY FAT BASTARD
SHOW ME THAT CHICKEN WING”
Sigh.
I do photography too. Did you know?
Boyfriend tries to tell me he thinks I’m talented.
I’m not good at accepting compliments. I’m great at deflecting them though.
Much to my amusement, this eventually frustrated him.
“TAKE THE F**KING CREDIT
MODESTY IS FOR PEASANTS
YOU’RE AMAZING NOW TAKE THE CREDIT”
I had suspected he knew I was lower class.
Anyway, I was headed to campus – the place I take most of my photos. I mean, I don’t get out much. Campus is my playground, and I opt to play by leaning in awkward ways, in poorly situated bushes, taking photos of flowers and insects that never stay still.
So, I really lean into a bush, when suddenly…
AH!
I am not ashamed to say that when I bent over, my butt went back and, lo and behold, into a thorn bush.
Maybe I’m a bit ashamed. It’s the second time.
This is why I don’t have friends.
They wouldn’t stand there while I massage my butt.
Also, women don’t usually like me. I know. They’ve said so.
Where am I going to find a woman that likes bugs, won’t whine about this boy and that boy, isn’t judgmental and who hates pink?
I don’t have anything against people who wear pink, but my eyes would liquify if I had to stare at a pink person all day.
Also, I’m bisexual. If I do find you?
MAN, YOU AIN’T SAFE.
Much like that Toyota Tazz that drove past on the freeway. You know those signs trucks have on their tails? It had one of those perched on its roof.
“ABNORMAL LOAD”
Two skinny guys rode in front.
My mom’s quite slender.
Lola’s mom sure has got it going on.
She’s a creative director. This means that I get to watch her plan and direct photoshoots.
I decided to accompany her.
Now, I’m an amazingly average-looking woman. On Tuesdays. Between 8-3pm. If I’m plastered with make-up.
I fancy dramatic, dark shades.
Well, there I met a flirty French model. Male.
“If you were a vampire, I’d let you drink my blood. I’d let you kill me.”
Gotta love the French.
To think, just this morning I sulked watching Mother and Brother fiddle with their fancy Samsung cellphones. The jealousy bore into my soul and I cracked, whipping out my Samsung tablet and yelling into the room.
“WHO’S YOUR DADDY!?”
I need to get out more.

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