Diary of a Glitter Splashed Britney Lovin' Lesbo

I am a 25 year old butcheyfemme queer with rubbish on my mind and sparkles everywhere else

Name:Miss Fee


My 100 Things

Mail Me

Currently Reading:

The Outsider - A Camus

Choke - C Palahnuik


Monday, March 17

Today's grievance is mini women. I'm not talking about people short enough to be talking into my fanny from a regualr standing position but I am talking about children dressing as though they are 30. There was a whole troup of this vile breed on my bus just yesterday, wearing heeled shoes, fluttering their painted eye lids and frequently adjusting their too-tight sleeveless tops to accomdate their lack of bust. They were all immaculately done up, as though after they 'lunched' they went for a full make over at the most expensive beauty salon. These mini women had lables on their clothes that if I were a dedicated follower of ridiculously expensive labeled clothes, I would have been more than tinged green with jealousy. They clung onto their clutchies that contained mummy-like leather purses and top of the range mobiles and talked about boys being immature and the latest colour of lipstick the had each bought. The only indication these people were kids was the fact that they didn't have a tit between them, due to the fact that they still had a good 4 years to wait til the even sniffed at puberty. And obviously the fact that they were shorter than the Queen of Fun and Gypsy Frills Anon whose combined height is 4ft 5 and who sleep in one of them half sized shop floor display bed and still their legs don't hang over the side. Clearly they could not have gone to that much effort on their own. Clearly mummy or rich step mum had stepped in with her bulging vanity case to make their daughters look like New York Glamour Queens. I am sure these 'kids' would have had no problem getting into pubs and could even see them in the claasier establishments sipping on cosmopolitans and chain smoking Marlboro Lights while discussing the state of single men today. They would sit their with their tiny legs crossed, looking just like their mothers who are dressing the same way as their kids but are 50 going on 30 as opposed to 9 going on 30. Why would these mini women want to grow up so quick? What is so cool about sitting in the latest prada gear with make-up on that their as yet un-developed skin is sensitive to? Where did the talk of Barbie Vs Sindy go? Aren't girls aged 9 supposed to be more interested in pink tafeta and Tiny Tears than boys and bootvut jeans? Shouldn't they be discussing which teachers they like and dislike rather that what shoes will go with tomorrows navy pleated 3 inch too short school skirt? I don't understand why these kids are in such a hurry to grow up and even more, i don't understand why their parents are so eager to help them do so. I wish I was still 9. If I was I am pretty sure I wouldn't be strutting around in mummy's mascara and big sister's bra. I'm almost certain I would be arguing poor Sindy's case in the eternal doll fight because Sindy's head popped off and she got to be Action Man's wife. That and climbing trees and scuffing my chubby knees and eating the sand that the other kids peed in and burying insects in my insect cemetary but maybe that was just me. Maybe my perpetual immaturity, that I am sure left me to try and grow up much less quick than most others, is out of the ordinary. Maybe the fact that I am 24 (how old?!) and still playing dress up and buying silly toys and jumping around in paddling pools is rather pathetic. Maybe it would be more pathetic if I were the only immature person in my group of friends but thankfully most of my friends are also not 20 going on 40. Thankfully there is always someone else there to join in the games of dress up and space hopper races and no matter how stupid the occasional person in the group thinks some of us are, I know I have more fun than most my age and of course those who try to forget about teddies and bouncy castles in favour of designer shoes and being someone they are not. I sometimes worry that I will have to grow up soon. But then I remember that the option to grow up totally by passed me years ago so I have no need to fear. I will never talk about anything of world importance and I will never seriously attend a dinner party and I will most certainly never forget the importance of silly fun. So really I have lots of unexpected immaturity to look forward to, while those mini women have about another 50 years of exactly the same expect. They are gonna be so bored of being grown up by the time they are 14 I tell you. So bored of the corns in their feet because of their ill-fitting shoes and so bored of the acne that their over-use of make up will cause them to develop. And also so completely bored of the same lifeless topics of conversation they will have until they die with the same breed of wannabe-sophisticated people they will always cling to and by the time they are 50 they will wish they'd had that childhood. They will wish they kissed dolls and made up dance routines to crap pop bands instead of hanging out with adults with perfect hair and shiny faces. Ha. I feel smug.

And so goodbye readers, I am off to picked the bits of chewed lip of my keyboard and reapply the balm. Have fun. I know I will.