Friday, July 12, 2013

They called me a tomboy.

Who?

Everyone I knew growing up.

Why?

Because I liked making up adventures.  Barbies didn't try on outifts, they went out in the woods on spy missions.  Dolls didn't have tea parties, they were aliens sent to help humankind or destroy the cosmos depending on my mood.  I didn't just ride bikes with my sister, we were bionic women out to save the world.

Eventually I grew up but the desire for made up adventures never faded.  In my teens I developed a fondness for my mother's romance novels.  However princes and sheiks, I'm sorry, didn't intrigue me so I sought out other heroes and soon, of course, I had to create my own take on romantic adventures.  Falling in love risks your heart, daring to do so takes courage.  The journey that a romance can travel fascinates me still especially when I flavor the story with a pinch of drama, a dash of danger and  a handsome cowboy.

One mystery my imagination has never delved into is my sister's affection for shoes.  I just don't get it.  Maybe someday she could write me a story I can relate to like The Cowgirl wore Prada and I'll finally -  nah.

I'll always be a tomboy who wears my one pair of tennis shoes until they fall apart. 




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