TOUGH CHICKS

I don’t actually know where this need to be a tough chick comes from. To whom do I have to prove that I can carry five bags from the grocery store even though my arms hurt like hell, that I can start a car pushing it when the battery is dead, or that I can walk myself home after getting a shot in the bottom and having one leg gone completely numb? Maybe I have to prove that I’m strong and independent to myself or maybe I’m like that because I grew up surrounded by other tough chicks.

I had a tool box in my first flat, and whenever there was something wobbly or broken I’d try to fix it. So I’d walk around with a hammer like a handyman which caused more laughs from my flatmates than actual repairs. As an archaeologist in excavations I was the one swinging the pickaxe while other girls wouldn’t even bother to try – and that often ended by hitting myself rather than digging. On my 20th birthday party I broke a toe playing football in ballerina shoes with the guys, but was too tough (clearly too stupid) to say it really hurt so I continued jumping around until I couldn’t stand on my foot. God forbid one of the guys would think I was a wuss.

My other tough chick friends and I also have this thing of always having to pay the bill! We’ll even fight for it – to make it very clear we are able to. Of course we do it because we like treating people, but it’s also an independence thing. Unfortunately very few people are like this so we end up paying for people that deserve it as well as the ones that don’t. For years and years I am witnessing people being completely comfortable with someone else paying for them and not even bothering to say thanks. For years and years I am fascinated with all those chicks that never even offer to pay anything, that live out of someone else’s income or those who think being pretty is enough. Sometimes I even get upset because I think it’s really unfair how they can get away with not doing anything, but then I realize we could do the same – it’s just that we don’t want to! And we respect ourselves way too much to act that way. It’s our choice to be tough. And that doesn’t make us any less feminine, on the contrary.

It’s not always easy I’ll tell ya. I mean there are times when I literally want to hire a man to carry heavy stuff for me. Let’s be frank – no women ever enjoyed carrying a 50 pound suitcase up or down the stairs, and we all know women cannot pack under 50 pounds if they’re leaving their home for more than a week. I want to hire a man to help me find lost documents in my computer (God knows where these things disappear), or fixing it when it’s not working and I have a deadline. I want to hire a man to explain iTunes and how iPhone works when you first start using it and you’ve only had androids before.

Let’s face it: there are different kinds of tough – there’s the “strong independent woman” kind of tough and then there’s the “I’m a man, and I can carry heavy stuff” kind of tough. Right now I really need the other one cause I’m out of drinking water and I can’t carry a carton to the third floor on my own, so if you know someone who’s the “I’m a man, and can carry heavy stuff” kind of tough – please send him over. Thanks.

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