Who's That Lady?

I had a whole post up yesterday about my new bangs (which are offensively short) and then the Internet disappeared and I was left with the little pinwheel spinning away in the middle of my screen. As Ryan said, life in New York City is one giant thrill ride. If I'm not writing about my bathtub I can always rely on my hair for a solid post.

Yesterday, David said something along the lines of "Why can't you just be a lady?" Now, before you gasp in horror at the sexism of it all, let me assure you that my football-star boyfriend took plenty of Gender Studies courses and is constantly challenging hegemonic masculinities. I don't know what that means exactly, but hello! He does the dishes! To give the story some context, I think at the time he said this, I had just finished a story about how G and I had to flee from a homeless woman who was spitting on random women on 42nd street, and how I wasn't sure if it was appropriate or not to dropkick a mentally ill person after she spit in your hair. I pose the same question to you.

I was going to argue that I am a lady, a ladies lady, I wear lots of lip gloss and I own plenty of shoes with impractical heels. I'm polite to the elderly and I tolerate children. Then I remembered that people find my blog by searching for things like "shit talking women" and I realized I didn't have a leg to stand on. So I instead told him a story about how during my 6 months in London I always wondered why I never saw anybody barf in the subway, but I once saw a pile of human poop in one of the stations.

That's when David came up with this riddle:

"What makes a football player look sensitive and is more offensive than a frat boy?" "You. " {Meaning me}