Terms of endearment

Mustard
Pickles
Avocados
Barbeque sauce
Curry
Licorice
Root beer & cream soda
Beer beer

I hate these supposedly edible products. They’re deal breakers for me - I’d rather not eat. Just like I don’t use porta-potties - I’d rather not pee. Please don’t think I’m a little princess. I’m actually quite the tomboy. At least compared to most of the women in my life. I don’t like to wear make-up or perfume. I don’t often “do” my hair. Workout pants, tank tops and running shoes are my apparel of choice for most occasions. I wear high heels about once a year and I rarely wear skirts or dresses unless they’re sporty with stripes down the sides or have cargo pockets all over them.

I’m not afraid to get dirty or sweaty or both. A few years ago, I dug out a big oleander tree in our yard, roots and all. I’d wet the moat I’d dug around the tree to soften the dirt around the roots. Then I’d use a pick-axe to leverage the roots out of the ground. It took me several days, but I did it myself. (Though Belle and Fancy helped me dig the moat – also not afraid of mud, like their momma!) The root ball turned out to be bigger & heavier than me, so I needed help getting it into the green waste bin. Still, I felt like Hercules. Or Xena.

I’ve changed quite a few tires in my life, even in the rain. And not because there were no men around. When my little red Hyundai overheated, I replaced the busted hose (which I had to cut to fit) and got my car back on the road. I love to take stuff apart to see how it works even if I can’t always put it back together the right way. I’ve laid block walls. I own a drill press and an air compressor and have a magnetic level stuck to my fridge. I can fix lots of things. You could say I’m handy.

I’m not exactly your girlie-girl. And I’m not graceful or extremely coordinated (which is why I prefer not to use power tools that could hurt me or others). When I decided I needed to change my image so people would take me more seriously professionally, I needed help. I had a Guerilla Makeover in San Francisco. My “Queer-Eye” guy, Charles, first sent me to the Brow Bar at Benefits. Then for a make-up consultation and $150 worth of cosmetics (which took me a year to go through). He helped me pick out 2 professional “grown-up” outfits including “body-lengthening” pointy toe heels. He taught me some basic principles about what kinds of clothes to look for for my body. Lastly, he sent me off to my first non $10 haircut.

It’s been a gradual change over the past 2 years, but it’s not all that bad. And I’m not yet fashion-forward, but I’m trying. I’ve even expanded my make-up collection and I’ve gone for lessons! I still need my oh-so-stylish boy friend, Josh, to help me pick out hot jeans. It’s hard because I’m short, but I have a nice derrière, sot it’s not that hard! I have to consciously fight my urge to walk away from the conservative old-lady clothes I used to gravitate towards.

So when a co-worker greeted me with an “Hola, Princesa!” (“Hello, Princess”) this morning, I was touched by her term of endearment. My husband, who translated it literally in his head, laughed out loud thinking she was calling me a diva!!! Querido, I’m no diva. Just your average, finicky girly tomboy.