Don't Call Me a Lady

"Excuse me if I say fuck...I'm still a lady", I overheard a girl say, sitting next to me in a cafe. It lead me to believe she felt there is some unwritten rule, that states if you swear and do not proclaim you are a lady...that you are instead, a trashy, trailerpark living heathen. It made me ponder, what exactly is being a lady? It's a society drivin title that says you are somehow more demure or entitled then the rest; more cultured and prim. What exactly does being a lady entale? Wearing white gloves on Sunday? Walking heel to tow in buckled shoes? Sipping your tea quietly and refraining from dunking your biskit? I consider myself a bit of an aficionado on living my life in a way that is both beautiful and respectful. But I love to say fuck, because sometimes there is no other word that can describe a situation with the gusto that fuck does. And I don't think it has anything to do with being a lady. Actually, I'm pretty sure as much as I love glamour and all that goes with it, I never want to be described as a lady. It conjures up images of a weak, frail, over-bread women that depend on their family or husbands for the simplest of tasks. I'm not sure if a lady can navigate city streets in a british sports car. I'm not sure a lady has ever started her own camp fire. I don't think a lady can travel the world, on her own, via fast train. I'm pretty sure a lady has never been to the horse tracks and slammed down fifty on Midnight's Madness and I can say with all certainty a lady has never had a good fuck. I choose to be adventures and strong. I choose to beckon the likes of Garbo and Hepburn. I will walk proudly in my pants and will gladly get my white gloves filthy when needed. I will drink my Whisky straight with the boys, feel assured I can kick their behinds at five card stud and I will do it all with perfect red lips and high heels. And that is spoken like a true Dame.

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