Poor Excuse

Every once in a while I feel a little bit lacking in the feminine department (not the feminine... zone, just in femininity, in general). Don't get me wrong- I can moon over boys, dress well enough, eat chocolate (and my feelings, if necessary), and I'm terrible at most sports. If that's not a stereotype, then what is?

Tonight I had a Laura Night, which involved sitting on a beanbag and watching a French romantic comedy, Spongebob, and the Public Broadcasting Service (I can be a classy chick, eh?). Other diversions included eating a pile of stir-fry, playing dress up, and fooling around with makeup. Here's where it got tricky.I'm not good with makeup, that staple of the female wardrobe. Besides underwires, makeup is what really separates women from the menfolk, and I only know what I've assumed for theatre: the more, the merrier, if you want anyone to see you. Other than that, any eyeshadow that begins over my eye quickly drips down onto my cheek; mascara was invented to flake directly into my eyes; God knows if I wore blush, it'd explode or something.

I was reminded of all this during Laura Night, when I attempted to paste my face (practicing for more formal occasions), and ended up with smudges of black all around my eyes, hands, and ankles. Times like these make me feel like a poor excuse for a girl, so I guess I'll go bulk up by reciting The Vagina Monologues. (Yeah, I think I have a part! Go celebrate V-Day, everyone!)