I wanted to be a boy growing up. Not to the degree of being transgendered or having real misgivings, but I simply wanted to be a boy. I was okay being a girl, I was just more into sports, skateboarding, and how many times I could go to the ER. I was your stereotypical tomboy who got in a squabble with a relative over whether I perspired or I sweat. Ladies perspire, boys sweat. Bullshit. I readily smelled bad and the war over wearing deodorant and shaving my legs was brewing. * For the record, I definitely should have shaved earlier. I had fur.*
So when I announced to my parents I was trading in my violin for a green vest and social bonding over lanyards, they smothered their coughs and smirks. I was not one for girl bonding, nor could I paint my own nails or braid my hair. Of course, I would certainly enjoy making a ceramic pumpkin and painting it. Duuuuuuh.
I made it three months. Three months and I begged my mother to quit. She told me I needed to make it the year, then reassess. We weren't allowed to quit much. Here is what I remember, in no particular order.
- I wouldn't wear the green vest. I hated it. It was embarrassing.
- It was embarrassing because I had, like, three badges on it.
- I barely sold any girl scout cookies. They never made it out of our house, because we ate a box a day. My dad wrote a personal check for all those Samoas and Thin Mints.
- I made my friends do all my crafting.
- Lanyards can go to hell. I don't care if Ben Franklin had the best colors.
- I remember counting how many times our leader would bite her lower lip and say,
- My younger brothers made my bird house and painted it for me. It still looked like dogshit.
- Collateral was playing G.I. Joe's for a week straight.
- I never really said the pledge. I just mouthed the words.
Girl. Scout. Flunky.
Girl Scout Flunky
Teacher by trade. Mom. Wife. Flunked Girl Scouts.