I may know how to change a tire, do my own oil change, know what DHOC means or even be able to tear down, then rebuild a motor… but my nails (at the moment) are hot pink.
That’s right, I am a woman and I still have to remind people of that — often. People who have known me forever are often shocked when they see that I have a Coach handbag for every month of the year (which I bought myself, thank you very much), or that I have at least 20 North Face jackets and vests. When they see me sporting nail polish, I get the look of “Who are you?” I cop to girly moments just like every other Tom Boy out there.
On the other hand, people who don’t know me well see the groomed and manicured me and are shocked to see me crawling around under the hood of a car, or hear talking (knowledgeably) about sports. Sometimes it feels like I just can’t win. I’m one of those “You can’t judge a book by its cover” AND “You can’t just a book by its guts” kind of people.
A few weeks back, in order to help a local high school’s project graduation fundraising efforts, I bought an organizing tote from the company ThirtyOne. I chose the blue, green and turquoise print with happy little flowers on it. Perfect for trucking my AP Book, iPad, food, etc, back and forth to work with me. When it was delivered to me here at the office, my fellow sports crew members eyed the bag, then looked at me in confusion. I had to lift my purple signature Coach bag, then flash off my robin’s-egg blue fingernails at them to remind them “I am woman.”
That night at the gym, my fellow workout boys gave me the same look when I used it to bring in clothes to change into for a softball game I was covering later that evening. The funny thing about their reaction in particular is this: I have some of the girliest workout clothes in the history of working out. My tops are purple, hot pink, baby blue. My sneaks are black with rainbow splashes on them and rainbow shoe laces. Why did a flower bag catch them so off guard?
While I’m a coat and handbag collector, like most of my gender, what I’m not is a shoe collector. On any given day I’m in flip flops or my Dansko clogs. Sure I’ve got 3 pairs of really sexy red heels and two pairs of amazing heeled almost-knee high boots, but that’s it. My weakness in footwear is gym shoes. I buy a pair for running every seven months and every eight or so, I’m getting another pair for the gym. I have, crammed into my locker at the gym, 5 pairs of sneakers (my just in case I forget to bring my good ones). The back floor of my Murano always has an additional three pairs on hand. My sun room’s bench cubby has 2 pairs of running and another pair of gym shoes. We won’t even get in to what’s stashed under my bed.
You want to go running with me but forgot your sneaks at home, and we just happen to be the same size? Hell no. Your feet will never, ever grace the inside of a pair of my sneaks. Don’t even think about asking if you can wear a pair. I’ll ship you back home to get yours.