Stop mistaking me for a boy.
Do you know how embarrassing that is? Because as it turns out, world, you know that this is a patriarchal society that I live in. I have to live with the small but painful inequalities that go against women, and then you have the nerve to go and call me a boy? Society, I am trying so hard to live with being comfortable. And I am comfortable with how I am right now. Yes. That includes my flattish chest, and I’m doing nothing to try and show off the cleavage that I do have. That includes my large t-shirts and sporty shorts, and I’m most comfortable in them. And YES, that includes my short hair, and I’m not going to grow it out so that I look like your cookie cutter female. And with all this, society, I am COMFORTABLE. And if you, girls, are comfortable in your makeup and tight short clothes, then WEAR THEM. BE COMFORTABLE.
And so yes, I know that you didn’t mean it. I know that you were rushing and made a snap judgement. And I know you’re gonna yell at me for asking you to take the time to study me until you can make a better judgement about my gender. But honestly, why shouldn’t I ask you to? It takes about one second to make a better decision, compared to the hours I spend second guessing my choices to be comfortable when you mistake me for a boy.
And even if you don’t, I still know I’m a woman, because I have to deal with being a woman. Even if you can’t tell, I still have to bleed for a week every month. I still have to deal with being called “bossy” instead of “assertive”. I’m still considered obnoxious because of my tendency to speak up quite often. I still have to deal with the 70 cents a woman makes for every dollar a man makes in the work force. So please.
Don’t. Mistake me. For a boy.