HMMM

I like to think I’m more guy than girl underneath the exterior. Hoodies and t-shirts with silly prints are my preferred choice of fashion, and I’ve been wearing the same sneakers for years. I think altogether I have 3 pairs of shoes that I wear regularly. I don’t mind getting my hair wet in the rain, and I don’t use my PMS as an excuse for being a moody bitch. Because it never really is the reason, is it, ladies? I snort when I laugh and I make sexual innuendo jokes more often than I should. And dead baby jokes. I like those a lot. Too much, perhaps. I play computer games. My best friend and I have lengthy discussions about our kill streaks. It’s not something we generally share with others, but there you go, now you know.

But.
And there’s a but.

Every now and then, I am overwhelmed with this fluttery feeling inside my gut, and it’s all your fault. The feeling that makes me reach into the back of my closet, pull out my prettiest blue dress… That which makes me sneak into my mother’s drawer and find her pearl necklace. To curl my hair. To put on a girly song, and then… To dance. I’ll twirl and sing and fantasize about being your perfect lady. Mmm, you taking my hand and saying something in French, perhaps? And myself, as a perfect specimen of female grace, laying my head against your chest as we slow dance. Anywhere. At a ball or in the parking lot, I don’t care.

Sometimes I snap out of it. But sometimes I walk around for days with my mind in a haze and my outfits perfectly accessorized. My mother is particularly fond of these periods in time. She’s always wanted her own little princess. My father, however can sense the gazes of men upon me from miles away, and rejects this state. And what about me? I love it.

I love it.
I love it.
I love it.

I love the way you make me feel.
I like the transformation.
A miniature revolution in its own right.