I have a friend and I have gone through phases of thinking I am in love with him, despite his favourite method of interaction with me seeming to be to invent as many insults as possible. (No, that does not mean he has a crush on me; he is in love with his girlfriend, he is just generally a [insert censored word here]. And isn't it great that I can write this sort of post when my blog is anonymous?)
About a week ago, he decided I dressed like a librarian. 'Fantastic,' I said 'I love books and I would love to be a librarian'.
'Oh. Actually, you're a chess-player,'
(I can't play chess)
'Fool! You're the chess-player who can't play chess!'
I admit that that day's outfits was put together in the dark and looked entirely frumpy, although not in a chess-playing librarian way, just a put-together-in-the-dark way. So I went home, and the next day I wore a button down stripy shirt. And I resolved to buy something tweed.
I am not going to listen to a badly dressed boy's judgment on me. In my brand new gorgeous (green) tweed jacket I am going to embrace and celebrate the me that he does not like, that loves books and thinks it would be awesome if she could play chess. This jacket is my armour to enter into a rebellion against my other, fawning self.
I might actually learn how to play chess.