Girly-Girl Apology
I am a girly-girl. The following story proves it once again:
Tuesday my car broke down, so Wednesday morning I had to catch a ride to work with Nate Hornbrook and my brother. No biggie except that their work starts an hour before mine. So I packed up all my beautifying items and decided to get ready in a Purdue Memorial Union bathroom. (The place is almost deserted in the summer.) I did so, and then headed to work.
Worked diligently all morning, pausing only when a blonde, skinny girl wheeled an old cart into the office.
"I heard there were some package here for me to pick up." She was wearing boys' athletic shorts and an old t-shirt- both of which were liberally splattered with paint. I was wearing a long flowy skirt with a ruffled hem and a lace blouse.
"Oh yes!" I said. "There's one over here, and then there's one under the desk. It was so heavy I couldn't move it."
At this point I became aware of the fact that my hair was down and curled, and her hair was pulled back into an economical pony tail. I was wearing make-up. She was not. And she was looking at my as though I was a strange creature.
She went over to the first box and hoisted it with ease. Then she went over to the "heavy" box. She had to strain a little, but she lifted it and set it fairly easily on her cart. This feat caused her to look at me in derisive amusement before exiting the office.
I felt like a girl.
However, my interaction with this certain damsel was not over. I came back from my lunch break early. I was bored. I changed out of my exercise clothes and into my frills once again, and then (because it was so humid and my hair was resembling a haystack) I whipped out my curling iron (which I had brought for that morning) and began to control my wild locks. Just as I started, "package girl" entered the bathroom. She gave me a look of incredulous scorn.
As she was washing her hands I ventured to strike up a conversation (you know, be friendly!) "This humidity is awful!"
"Hmmm, yeah." she answered. She couldn't really understand. Her hair was completely smooth and straight despite the 90% humidity. "Do you have an interview or something?"
"Oh, no." I replied. "I just have to work the rest of the afternoon and I feel so much better when my hair looks nice." After that comment there was no chance of ever renewing a conversation. She snorted, looked at me in scorn, and walked out the the bathroom.
Later that afternoon she came into the bathroom at the same time I did. But I darted out of my stall before her, washed my hands in a mad rush, and whirled out the bathroom before she exited her stall. There was NO WAY I was going to endure any more derogatory stares in my general, frilly direction.
I am such a girl. And I look like it.
I apologize...
(but not really... I kinda like it!)
Tuesday my car broke down, so Wednesday morning I had to catch a ride to work with Nate Hornbrook and my brother. No biggie except that their work starts an hour before mine. So I packed up all my beautifying items and decided to get ready in a Purdue Memorial Union bathroom. (The place is almost deserted in the summer.) I did so, and then headed to work.
Worked diligently all morning, pausing only when a blonde, skinny girl wheeled an old cart into the office.
"I heard there were some package here for me to pick up." She was wearing boys' athletic shorts and an old t-shirt- both of which were liberally splattered with paint. I was wearing a long flowy skirt with a ruffled hem and a lace blouse.
"Oh yes!" I said. "There's one over here, and then there's one under the desk. It was so heavy I couldn't move it."
At this point I became aware of the fact that my hair was down and curled, and her hair was pulled back into an economical pony tail. I was wearing make-up. She was not. And she was looking at my as though I was a strange creature.
She went over to the first box and hoisted it with ease. Then she went over to the "heavy" box. She had to strain a little, but she lifted it and set it fairly easily on her cart. This feat caused her to look at me in derisive amusement before exiting the office.
I felt like a girl.
However, my interaction with this certain damsel was not over. I came back from my lunch break early. I was bored. I changed out of my exercise clothes and into my frills once again, and then (because it was so humid and my hair was resembling a haystack) I whipped out my curling iron (which I had brought for that morning) and began to control my wild locks. Just as I started, "package girl" entered the bathroom. She gave me a look of incredulous scorn.
As she was washing her hands I ventured to strike up a conversation (you know, be friendly!) "This humidity is awful!"
"Hmmm, yeah." she answered. She couldn't really understand. Her hair was completely smooth and straight despite the 90% humidity. "Do you have an interview or something?"
"Oh, no." I replied. "I just have to work the rest of the afternoon and I feel so much better when my hair looks nice." After that comment there was no chance of ever renewing a conversation. She snorted, looked at me in scorn, and walked out the the bathroom.
Later that afternoon she came into the bathroom at the same time I did. But I darted out of my stall before her, washed my hands in a mad rush, and whirled out the bathroom before she exited her stall. There was NO WAY I was going to endure any more derogatory stares in my general, frilly direction.
I am such a girl. And I look like it.
I apologize...
(but not really... I kinda like it!)
posted by COURTNEY at 5:49 AM
3 Comments:
ROTFLMAO.
Maybe you interpreted her scorn as like a form of disbelief? Granted, she might not hate the humidity 'cause her hair is straight, but I love the humidity and my hair is... not straight... and I'm kind of like the package girl. Except I prefer never to have looked at you in scorn...
-Mols
don't apologize, honey. girly girls are in danger of extinction!
sometimes one should stick up for one's self and so as one is not looked down upon by one's scorner.
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