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I’m not much of a lady. I never have been. I remember proudly burping the alphabet to anyone who would listen when I was a child. I’m pretty sure, in my youngest years, I was convinced that I was born a wolf. I hated having my long, wild hair brushed. I loved sports, and I ran around in bare feet skinning my knees as often as I could (subsequently growing up with a healthy fear of hydrogen peroxide and a love affair with knee less jeans).

Nowadays, I curse like a sailor, I laugh loudly (and often), and I call people on their shit (if I feel bold enough). I’m sarcastic, and I say what I mean – but I’m never mean. I forget, sometimes, that these things are not proper in certain situations, but generally I’m pretty good at keeping up appearances. My mom always likes to tease me when I do something particularly ‘unlady’ like. But it’s all in good fun, because I know she is proud.

Case-in-point: Not lady like.

Throughout my many jobs, eventually someone will always say something to me about the way I dress. Let’s get something clear though. I always wear dress pants, a ‘blouse’, and some other random things that I hate, but wear because I figure they are appropriate office attire and will appease the ‘suits’. I know what is appropriate and what is inappropriate to wear to work. I’m a fashion reject, not an idiot.

Knowing that I am adhering to the work-place dress code rules, the statements will always be vague, like: “You should really start wearing cute little heels around the office. It is business casual here, you know” (FYI: I wear flats).

A little background information before my upcoming rant:  I HATE being told how to dress, and how to act, because I find it sexist. Nothing grinds my gears more.

First, let’s talk about the practical issues of heels here:

1.  I am nearly a giant, and I have giant feet (so finding any shoes is difficult). My pants, when I’m lucky enough, sit at just the perfect level. You throw on some heels, and now they are just too damned short! And short pants, my friends, are the bane of my existence.

My mom also always jokes that we should have bound my feet [source]

2. Mobility is extremely important to me. How am I going to run away from explosions/rapists/zombies/spiders/bad smells when I am wearing heels? In scary movies, when the girl is running away from the killer I always yell at the TV, “Ditch the heels bitch!! RUNNNNN!”

3. I value my body. In fact, I love my body. I love how strong and capable it is and I don’t think heels are worth the damage that they can do. I walk 10 kms a day, minimum. I run even more. I want to keep doing that for as long as possible.

4. Heels are expensive! And they have no practical worth! Maybe it’s because I grew up understanding that things cost money, but I refuse to waste my money on things that have no practical value to me and will only cause me pain.

5. Heels don’t allow me to do my job better.

I realize that some people wear heels because they make them feel sexy. I have nothing against that at all. I don’t like creepos looking at me. But, you know what does make me feel sexy?

Saying something funny, and having everyone around me laugh. Reading a book. Learning a new word. Doing something thoughtful for somebody else. Running. Doing Yoga. Dancing around the living room with my cats singing made up songs at the top of my lungs in a stupid voice (what Dan refers to as my ‘Brittney alter ego’). Being strong and making goals to become stronger. Burping the alphabet, for Christ sakes.

So fuck your heels. I don’t need ’em. [end rant – and yes, of course I had to end it on a particularly unlady like note]

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