I was released from The Tank momentarily today to meet with a customer. Now this gentleman (and he was a gentleman in the olde English sense) was old school. Fine man in his late 40s, who insisted on referring to the “pretty girls” that the young man had brought with him.  Now if I haven’t already mentioned this, I’m in my mid to late 30s, so a girl or pretty are words one would not choose to describe me. At one point he offered to explain to “you girls” the basics of what he did. I mean it didn’t take a genius to figure it out, it was kinda in the name…like asking what type of food does Burger King serve…swiftly followed by gratitude for the manager who had brought two “pretty girls” with him today. What was beyond funny was that I clearly looked about 5 years older than the buck who had brought me along! 

The 40 minute journey back to the office was spent debating, both with my passengers and my own self, what I am. Am I girl? A lady? A woman??  I'm not a girl. A young, naive, slightly innocent, purty l'il thing is the image that's conjured up in my mind when I think "girl".  Rightly or wrongly and with the best will in the world, I shall never be a lady. I mean I think of someone who "holds their counsel", who smiles politely, nods and supports her husband (see I don't even possess the vital accessory!), sips her drink and...I'm more guzzle a glass of red and I'll tell you what I really think, while guffawing, pointing my finger, poking my head and telling some fella exactly what my opinion is!!  Which leaves me with woman.  I'm in mid-30s, fighting every day to maintain a wasitline and work in The Tank. Have I not been cursed with enough in life?  I don't know what it is but for me woman suggests one of de wimmin, a group of females cackling, swilling their vino and talking of babies, men and men. This confuses and concerns me. I love being female, I love everything that goes with it (except the constant need to dehair my body, the gravity drive on our bodies and monthly reminders of the tick-tock of the biological clock), but I struggle to be comfortable when in The Tank and related locations I'm thrown into any collective term for females.  So I've decided, fine gentlemen I meet in my business life, I'd prefer if you did not call me a girl, nor a lady nor a sista nor a mott nor a woman...just call me Nemo!