On at least one occasion per week, I wish I were a lesbian. My lesbian friends are so accepting, so non-judgmental, so diverse. I look at pictures from Rose’s recent holiday in Australia, and there’s a picture of her and her girlfriend holding up their arms to show their jellyfish stings – but also, I noticed, inadvertently showing off their unshaved armpits. Of course, not every lesbian declines to shave, but how nice that they are comfortable enough with themselves that any stigma attached to not shaving doesn’t even cross their minds.
How different they are from men. People say women are superficial, but if they are, it’s only because they allow themselves to be made so paranoid by the most superficial and judgmental of all creatures – men. I am so fed up of their not-so-cleverly-disguised attempts to manipulate me into changing the way I look. From my old friend Danny’s constant criticisms of my appearance when I used to know him, to my ex-boyfriend’s “wow, look at you, you forgot to shave your legs today” (uh, no… I don’t shave my legs above the knee, ever), to now Phillip’s “are you trying to grow a moustache?”
Seriously, there are so many insults I could throw back, but I don’t. Why? Because I don’t care about such trivial nonsense. I thankfully have more to my life than worrying whether the tiny hairs on my face are showing in a particular light, or running a razor up and down the entire length of my legs every two days. And I also have more to my relationships with people than to be concerned about such things in them.
Hmm. Quite annoyed…
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