I’m a woman, but I’m definitely not a lady. I don’t know the difference between a salad fork and a dessert fork, and I certainly don’t care about the crap that comes out of my mouth. There’s nothing elegant about me, and I like it that way.
I’m not going to be polite if you’re a loser.
I won’t stand with a sweet, tightlipped smile if you’re spouting out garbage. If someone insults me, or says something small-minded, then I’m going to fire back at them. I won’t start a huge scene, but I won’t let myself be walked over, either.
Cursing helps me express myself.
Dropping the F bomb doesn’t make me any less intelligent than women who wouldn’t be caught dead cussing. I have a big brain and a big vocabulary, so it’s a conscious choice to call you a “whore” instead of a “insignificant, repugnant slattern.”
I actually want to enjoy my food.
When there’s a juicy meal on my plate, I don’t have time to think about which fork is the correct one to use. I grab whatever is closest to me and go to town. I’d rather moan into my food than politely put pieces into my mouth with my elbows off the table.
I won’t waste money to improve my reputation.
I’ll drink wine straight out of a box and buy my clothes from Target. I’m not going to waste my hard-earned paycheck on material items that’ll make me look more sophisticated than I actually am. I’d rather buy the things I actually need.
I don’t dress tastefully on a daily basis.
I’d rather wear a cutout dress than a conservative gown that covers my ankles. I have a body I’m proud of, so I’m going to show it off. No one will ever convince me that there’s something wrong with embracing the skin I was born in.
I’d rather have fun than worry about what I look like.
If I’m going out with my friends, I want to enjoy myself. I don’t want to spend all of my time worrying about impressing them. If they don’t like me, then they don’t have to invite me out again.
I have a right to express my opinion.
I don’t want to tiptoe around everything I say. If I have an opinion, I’m going to give it to you straight. I don’t believe in hiding my feelings to sound more sophisticated.
I don’t associate with people who give AF about classiness.
My friends don’t care if my house is trashed or if I’m wearing pajamas when they stop by for a visit. Quite honestly, I don’t want to be friends with the type of people who would care about such insignificant things.
It’s impossible to look prim and proper 24/7, anyway.
I take pride in my appearance, but there are still days when I walk out of the house covered in dog fur with chipped nails. I can’t help it. I’m a human, not a doll.
I don’t have to be a lady to be polite.
I’m not going to take my phone out and stare at my Facebook feed while someone is talking to me, but that doesn’t make me a lady. It just makes me a decent human being.
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