at least I'm not a twat

Driving from Sydney to Halifax last week, I was listening to CBC Radio and discovered that I've just been awarded a new label in life. Apparently, there is a newly defined social demographic group called a T.W.I.T. - a teenage woman in her thirties. Amazing, just what I need, another label from society to take away your freedoms and make you feel like you're living your life frivolously and without meaning.  As if cougar and spinster weren't enough. Once again, I find myself looking at society and saying, "fuck you!"  

So, according to the pure definition: TWITS: Just like men with Peter Pan-syndrome who are not ready to grow up, TWITS are putting serious relationships and parenthood on hold, instead choosing to continue partying and enjoying the freedoms they discovered in their teens.

OK, so I'm not a "big" club person. Scratch that, I'm not a club person.  I dress up on fun occasions and bring out the girly once in awhile (it's more fun and surprising that way), I love movies like Old School and Swingers, I like drinking beer, I have a potty mouth, burping and farting can make me laugh 'til I cry, dirty jokes don't offend me, I love Justin Timberlake, I've even downloaded Britney Spears (recently), I've been 'one of the boys' my entire life, I like sleeping with my hand comfortably placed in top of turkey pants when I fall asleep at night. I still call men, 'boys'.  I fall for boys like Peter Pan (the straight version). And just because I haven't found my boy that I'll make babies with and grow old with in our very own Never Neverland, I'm slapped with being called a twit. Ho hum.

You know, the more I think about it I might be a T.B.I.W.B. - a teenage boy in a woman's body.