Roles

I think I have mentioned before that I am not a girly girl. I am an indifferent housekeeper, and I am only a good cook because I like eating. I tried sewing, once, when I was fourteen. After stitching my hand to the shirt I was trying to make, I gave up and took woodworking in school.

I don't think I've ever really even had a girly job. I was a waitress, once, for about a week. A customer decided to grab my ass. That customer wore his very hot coffee home. I got fired, but it was worth it.

My current job includes un-girly aspects such as playing with guns and yelling at people. I don't really like it, but it pays better than waitressing.

My car needed an oil change last week. I had the filter and a case of oil sitting in the trunk, but I was being lazy about it, mostly because it is starting to get cold out, and the weather had been windy and rainy. It got to be pretty critical, though, as I was well over the recommended 5,000 kilometers, and T and I were planning a trip home, which adds another 1,000.

I spoke to a girlfriend at work and arranged to use her garage on Thursday. I mentioned it to T when I got home from work. T cocked his head.

"Shouldn't I be doing that?"

"Do you know how?" I replied

I guess that wasn't the most political thing to say, but T just isn't that type. I'm sure he could do mechanics, but he doesn't seem to want to. It turned out that he does know how to change oil, though he doesn't enjoy it. I told him it was fine, I was happy to do it myself.

"But what will your friends think of me?"

"I'm sure they will think you are a progressive, open-minded gentleman."

Supper was waiting for me when I got home.

Girly

I am not a girly girl.

As a teenager, I routinely got mistaken for a boy. Actually, that happened well into my twenties. I grew my hair and nails long so people would have visual cues, then I got fat and grew breasts, rendering all that a moot point anyways. I wear jeans and tank tops. I shop for shirts and shoes in the men's section out of necessity - I am an attractive girl, but not a little girl, and size 11 ladies' shoes are hard to come by. I do not spend huge amounts on clothing. I could care less about fashion. Motor oil does not wash out of $150 jeans any better than $40 ones. Being feminine just isn't practical.

T appears to be turning me into a girl. A girly girl.

I own makeup, for the three or four occasions a year I have to wear it. For some reason, I had the impulse to wear some a couple of nights ago. T had never seen me wearing makeup before. T was extremely vocal about how impressed he was. He said he does not generally like girls wearing makeup, and prefers the natural look (thankfully), but thought I looked phenomenal (huh?).

Likewise, I have a pair of super-comfy capri pants. I wear them when I am doing housework. T thought they were fantastic. Said so several times. Grabbed me and pulled me down on top of him on the couch to demonstrate how great he thought they looked. When we went out for dinner later that evening, I wore them out, with a pair of high-heeled sandals. T couldn't stop looking at my ass, and said so.

I went shopping yesterday. Now, shopping is not unheard of in my world; I am always happy to go to Home Hardware and pick up a few new tools. However, I went shopping for makeup and clothing. Pretty stuff. Capris. High heels. Mascara and lip gloss.

My fashionista sister is going to love this guy. Everyone else is going to wonder what the hell he's done to me. Including, possibly, me.

The things we do for love...