Tomboy

I never wanted to be a princess. I hated the color pink. And heaven help you if you ever tried to get me in a dress. I was a tomboy. Still am. And barring any weird telenovela style bouts of concussed personalty changing amnesia, always will be. The term “tomboy” was a comfort for me growing up, because it served as a diagnosis of sorts for why I was different. A reason for why my eyes would glaze over in boredom at princess birthday parties, and why my wardrobe of choice was loose cotton t-shirts and skate shoes when the other girls were beginning to use their milkshakes to bring all the boys to the yard. So I thought this article about how the term...